It was the postmaster.
At last the horses were hooked on and the postboys in their saddles and boots. The first tried to start his pair when they went clean off their feet. They got them up and all clear again, when the second span went off their feet! This time the postboy was caught under them.
Charny, who was looking on in silence, seized hold of the man and dragged him out of his heavy boots, remaining under the horse.
"What kind of horses have you given us?" demanded he of the postinghouse master.
"The best I had in," replied the man.
The horses were so entangled with the traces that the more they pulled at them the worse the snarl became.
Charny flew down to the spot.
"Unbuckle and take off everything," he said, "and harness up afresh. We shall get on quicker so."
The postmaster lent a hand in the work, cursing with desperation.
Meanwhile the other man, who had been looking on had run to the mayor, whom he told that the Royal Family were in a coach passing through the town. Luckily the official was far from being a republican and did not care to take any responsibility on himself. Instead of making the assertion sure, he shilly-shallied so that time was lost and finally arrived as the coach disappeared round the corner.