“I shall kill my poor Panurge!” cried he dolefully, thinking to move Chicot.
“Well, kill him,” said Chicot quietly, “and we will buy another.”
All at once Chicot, on arriving at the top of a hill, reined in his horse suddenly. But the ass, having once taken it into his head to gallop, was not so easily stopped, and Gorenflot was forced to let himself slide off and hang on to the donkey with all his weight before he could stop him.
“Ah, M. Chicot!” cried he, “what does it all mean? First we must gallop fit to break our necks, and then we must stop short here!”
Chicot had hidden himself behind a rock, and was eagerly watching three men who, about two hundred yards in advance, were traveling on quietly on their mules, and he did not reply.
“I am tired and hungry!” continued Gorenflot angrily.
“And so am I,” said Chicot; “and at the first hotel we come to we will order a couple of fricasseed chickens, some ham, and a jug of their best wine.”
“Really, is it true this time?”
“I promise you, compère.”
“Well, then, let us go and seek it. Come, Panurge, you shall have some dinner.”