The post-chaise flew swiftly along for about ten minutes, then the pace slackened, a trot succeeded the gallop, a walk succeeded the trot, and then the vehicle stopped short again.
This time Jean Pierre jumped down and examined one of the Friar's feet with great apparent solicitude.
"Mille tonnerres! one of my horses has gone lame!" he cried.
"Gone lame?" repeated the traveller, with unruffled calmness, though these numerous delays were certainly enough to try the patience of a saint. "Gone lame, did you say?"
"Yes, frightfully lame," answered Jean Pierre, still holding up the horse's foot.
"But how did he happen to go lame so suddenly, my boy?"
"The devil take me if I know."
"Shall we have to stay here?"
"No, bourgeois, there's no danger of that. If I could only see what has made the horse go lame, but it is getting so dark—"
"Yes, and you must be sure not to forget to light the lanterns at our next stopping-place."