"Yes, when they have time, which I have not."
The postillions, ranged behind the post-master, were grinning in the shadow, rubbing their hands and making signs to Charras to stick to it. They need not have been anxious on this score.
"Well, then, monsieur, if you take up such an attitude as that, I must give you horses; but be very sure it is only because you compel me by force to do so."
"What does that matter to me so long as you give them me!"
"Horses for these gentlemen!" said the post-master, returning to his room and yielding the battlefield to Charras.
"And good ones, look you, postillions."
"Oh! don't be uneasy, young gentleman; we will see to that," replied the postillion. "Get back into your carriage and continue your nap.... You are going to Noyon?"
"To la Fère."
"It's all the same."
Charras returned to the carriage, and so great was his fatigue that he fell asleep again before the horses were harnessed. Probably the postillion kept his word, for when Charras woke again, they had passed Noyon and day had begun to appear. Annoyed at witnessing the dawn alone, he poked Lothon till he too awoke. The sky was superb, "and jocund day,"[2] to quote Shakespeare, stood "tiptoe on the misty mountain tops," ready to descend into the plain like a luminous cloud; the leaves on the trees whispered together; the golden corn swayed gracefully; and from the midst of the fast-ripening ears the lark, daughter of day, flew up with quick-beating wing, making the air resound with her clear, joyous song. The peasants opened their doors to inhale the morning breeze, and made ready to go to work or to market, to the fields or to the town.