Edward could not reach Chartres upon the third night, as he had hoped; but reflecting, with some apprehension, that if one of the horses were to fall sick he had not funds sufficient to purchase another, he proceeded more quietly to Nogent le Rotrou, where he paused for the night before the sun had gone down.
Now, the dear but hasty reader has come to a conclusion that I have been engaged in writing an itinerancy, rather than a romance or a true history. But in this he is mistaken; for it was necessary to mention two little incidents which befell Lord Montagu's page on his way toward Paris; and one of these occurred at Nogent le Rotrou. It was therefore requisite to show that Edward got there; for an incident cannot happen to a man at a place where he is not. It was necessary, also, to explain how he arrived at that place later by some eight hours than he at first expected; for, if he had been able to continue the same galloping pace with which he set out from Nantes, the incident would not have happened at all.
At Nogent, the young Englishman—as is the case with most Englishmen—had looked to the accommodation of the horses in the first instance, and, having seen that they had a good dry stable, that the saddles were taken off and that they were well rubbed down, he directed them to be walked up and down before the house for a few minutes; when, to his consternation, he perceived that one of them was going somewhat lame. It was the horse ridden by long Pierrot la Grange, and one of the best of the three; and a consultation in regard to the poor animal was held immediately. One proposed one thing, another another; but, none being particularly skilful in the veterinary art, and as Edward did not choose to trust to a common blacksmith, it was determined to rest upon cold water applied to the lame foot and fetlock, and the horse was led back to the stable.
The inn was a neat little auberge, and the landlord a fat, well-doing, clean-looking sinner as ever shortened a flagon or lengthened a bill. He promised worlds in the way of edible refreshment, trout and crayfish from the Huisne, pigeons from his own dove-cot, and capons equal to those of Maine; and, while all these delicacies were in preparation, Edward took post before the door, standing beside the tall pole with a garland upon it, which in those days appeared at the entrance of many a little cabaret in France.
As he thus stood, in not a very happy mood, two new travellers on horseback trotted up. Their dress was coarse, and evidently not the costume of any part of France that the young gentleman was acquainted with; but that which attracted his attention more particularly was the lameness of one of their horses, who limped much after the fashion of Pierrot's beast, but a great deal worse. The riders dismounted, and one of them, passing him, gave him "Bong jou," in a strange sort of patois. Edward advanced to the side of the other, who was holding the beasts, saying, "That horse seems very lame, my good friend."
"Oh, it is nothing," answered the man, in the same sort of jargon as that of his companion. "He'll be well before morning: we are maréchaux de chevaux, and will soon set him right. You see us go away to-morrow: he not lame then."
Shortly after the horses were led into the stable, and the young gentleman's dinner was announced; but, before partaking of any of the good things, he followed the two strangers, and found that they were provided with all the tools of the blacksmith and all the oils and essences of the veterinary surgeon of that day. "Let him cool, and then we see," said the master, speaking to his companion; and the whole party adjourned to the salle-à-manger. Five more hungry men never sat down to dinner, if they might be judged by their consumption of food; but all the other guests, and the landlord more particularly, remarked that the two last-arrived strangers ate none of the admirable crayfish. Now, when at a house of public entertainment you eat none of the especial dish of the place, it is not only an affront to your host, but an insult to his country. The landlord shook his head and declared the men must be some outlandish cannibals, for they neither spoke French nor ate crayfish. In this conclusion nobody gainsaid him,—not even the two men themselves, who did not seem to understand, but finished their dinner and went to attend to the lame horse.
Now, it may seem very strange in the author to entertain a reader with a lame horse, with which, though fully as good as a dead ass, that reader seems to have nothing on earth to do. But I declare it is neither for the purpose of filling up a vacant chapter, nor in any spirit of perversity,—such as frequently seizes every writer,—nor from a desire to delay till I have made up my mind how to proceed, nor from any caprice, that I pause upon that lame horse. On the contrary, it is a piece of genuine, serious history,—in fact, the only pure and dignified piece of history in this whole book,—mentioned by authors of high repute, and confirmed by a long train of consequences, which involved at least the three next years of Edward Langdale's life in their network; and so the fate of that lame horse cannot be omitted. With one of those sympathetic movements of the mind which we can neither direct nor restrain, and which lead us on the course of destiny whether we will or not, the youth felt a personal interest in that lame horse,—was not one of his own horses lame?—and he went to the stable to see the treatment the animal was to undergo. Need I pause to tell how one of the uncouth travellers took off the shoe, examined the foot, poured some fluid which he called oil of vipers into the hole left by one of the nails, wrapped an old rag round the hoof, and did sundry other beneficent acts to the affected part? No: suffice it to say that he seemed to treat it so skilfully, and with so much of that decision which continually passes for skill and nine times out of ten has as good a result, that Edward determined he should try his hand on Pierrot's horse also.
The immediate result was relief to both the beasts, and when their several riders mounted next morning no sign of lameness was visible.
The score was paid, and Edward with his party rode away first; but they had not gone half a mile before they were over-taken by the two blacksmiths, who seemed to desire company on the way, which they accounted for by telling the companions of the young cavalier that they were wandering Savoyards, who, having some skill in horse-medicine, had come to France, made a little money, and were returning to their own country to live upon the fruits of their toil.