"Let me hear it."
Just as the Englishman was about to make known his proposition, a waiter from the inn crossed the street to tell the postilion that he need not be in a hurry, for the traveller would not be ready for some time.
"What is he doing? and why did he order his horses so long ahead, then?"
"I don't know anything about that, but I do know he's a queer one. What do you think he dined on? He drank milk instead of wine, and ate some poached eggs and panada."
"Panada? Well, he must be a queer one!" said Jean Pierre, scornfully. Then turning to Russell, "Come, friend, what were you going to tell me a few minutes ago about—"
"Step into the stable-yard, my good fellow, I want to say a few words to you."
"I can't leave the Friar; he would be sure to cut up some caper. He's always fussing with Sans-Culotte. Whoa, you rascal! See, he's beginning his antics now. Whoa, there! if you break away, you brigand, I'll give you a beating you'll remember."
"Listen, then," said the Englishman, whispering a few words in the postilion's ear.
"What a funny idea!" exclaimed that young man, laughing.
"Will you accept my offer?"