“At two full leagues from Tournus,” replied the postillion, spitting blood, “and at least four leagues from Mâcon.”
And, extending his arm towards the smoking chimney:
“Up there, that village ought to be Vallars, but it’s not up to much.”
“Blast you!” roared M. d’Anquetil.
While the horses struggled we went near the carriage, which was lying sadly on its side.
The little postboy who had been taken out from the midst of the horses said:
“As to the spring, that could be mended by a strong piece of wood. It will only make the carriage shake you more. But there is the broken wheel! And, worst of all, my hat is under it, smashed to pieces.”
“Damn your hat!” said M. d’Anquetil.
“Your lordship may not be aware that it was quite new,” was the postboy’s meek reply.
“And the window glasses are broken!” sighed Jahel, seated on a portmanteau, at the side of the road.