that, if I had given her time to express either,
he never would have had the honour of being
her charioteer. So I anticipated whatever
she intended to say by observing that there
was no help for it, as we must go to
Boulogne that night, and I ordered the men to
stow away the baggage. That readiness to
submit to almost any inconvenience rather
than make a fuss, that willingness to meet
difficulties more than half-way, that
cheerfulness of disposition which makes every ill
fall lightly—all of which have since been
tested on many a long day's journey, in many a
trying hour— were manifested on this
occasion; not a word of remonstrance was
uttered, and when Monsieur Jerome
announced that his arrangements were
complete, my companion smiled assent to his
proposition that we should ascend, as readily
as if he had invited us to take our seats in a
triumphal car.

But before we climbed into the coucou—
such, literally, was the process—I reminded
Monsieur Jerome that he was an hour later
than the time he had appointed, and that I
expected he would fulfil his promise as to
the period of our arrival at Boulogne.

"Have no fear," he replied (the French-
man's stereotyped answer). " With such a
horse"— pointing to it— "distance is nothing."

The waiter who had recommended the
berline, smiled and shrugged his shoulders as
he held a chair for madarne to step on, to
reach her place in the carriage. I affected not
to notice his gesture, and, after bestowing a
franc upon Monsieur Pierre for the trouble he
had taken, followed my wife into the depths of
the coucou. Monsieur Jerome then resumed
his place in front, and, much to my surprise,
the light was suddenly obscured by Monsieur
Pierre seating himself beside him.

"Stop!" I exclaimed, touching Monsieur
Jerome on the shoulder, as he was giving
the reins a preliminary shake. " What does
this person want here?"

"Ah!" returned Monsieur Jerome, with
a familiar nod, " he is my friend—he means
to accompany us."

This arrangement was rather too cool,
and I immediately upset it.

"Your friend," said I, " may travel with
you, but not with us. Tell him to get down."

Monsieur Jerome stared.

"It will make no difference to the horse,"
be observed.

"But it makes a considerable difference,"
I retorted, " to me."

"He is only going to see his aunt, about
two leagues off," persisted Monsieur Jerome.

"Let him pay her a visit on foot," I
replied. " Listen, Monsieur Jerome! Either
your friend gets out, or we do. Choose
between us!"

This was an alternative for which he was
not prepared; he muttered something, gave
his companion a dig with his elbow, the space
in front was cleared, and laving on his beast
with a little more emphasis than he might,
under other circumstances, have done,
Monsieur Jerome set the coucou in motion.
Monsieur Pierre's eviction had not, however,
caused Monsieur Pierre to lose his temper; for
as the vehicle twirled round at the gateway I
caught a glimpse of him, nightcap in hand,
grinning a very polite adieu. The waiter,
the porter, and several others in the courtyard,
were grinning.

For the first mile or two, the horse went
at a lazy jog-trot; my wife and I talked
laughingly about this new mode of travelling,
but Monsieur Jerome preserved a strict, if
not a sullen, silence. As, however, it is not
in a Frenchman's nature to refrain from
talking, if he have anybody to speak to, he
took advantage of the first incline that
caused his animal to walk— it was a gradient
against the collar, of one foot, perhaps, in a
thousand— and turned round with the
evident resolve to make himself agreeable.

Monsieur Jerome was a gaunt-looking man
with large whiskers and a big voice; and but
for a certain unsteadiness in his eye, might
have passed for one of the fiercest fellows
that ever flourished a whip.

"Eh bien, monsieur!" he began, " have I
not kept my word?"

It was, I thought, rather early in the day
to put this question, so I asked him in what
respect.

"Dam'!" he replied. " Monsieur perceives
what an excellent jument (mare) I have
procured."

"I have no objection to make to her, as
yet," I answered; " only I should say she is
rather fond of walking."

"Monsieur would not gallop up the hills?"
was the somewhat reproachful exclamation
of Monsieur Jerome.

"You don't, I hope, call this a hill?" I
rejoined.

"It is true there are others more difficult,
which we shall come to by-and-by, but you
see I am careful of her at first— I husband
her strength. Hi! forward, la Maligne!
we are no longer in the mill. Hi! hi!"

At this hint la Maligne jogged on again,
and Monsieur Jerome remarked triumphantly:

"See there, monsieur! She is capable of
doing all things!"

It might be so; but it was quite clear that
of the two things in question, la Maligne
preferred walking to trotting.

Monsieur Jerome having, as he supposed,
sufficiently established the reputation of his
borrowed beast, now changed the subject.

"Apparently, from his desire to get to
Boulogne, monsieur is English? And
madame?"

"English also."

"And yet monsieur and madame both
speak French as I do. That is singular!
for although I have been many times to
Boulogne. I do not at all speak English."