Just as I was about to cross the street called the Haymarket, at the lower part, a cabriolet, drawn by a magnificent animal, came dashing along at a furious rate; it stopped close by the curb-stone where I was, a sudden pull of the reins nearly bringing the spirited animal upon its haunches. The Jehu who had accomplished this feat was Francis Ardry. A small beautiful female, with flashing eyes, dressed in the extremity of fashion, sat beside him.
“Holloa, friend,” said Francis Ardry, “whither bound?”
“I do not know,” said I; “all I can say is, that I am about to leave London.”
“And the means?” said Francis Ardry.
“I have them,” said I, with a cheerful smile.
“Qui est celui-ci?” demanded the small female, impatiently.
“C’est—mon ami le plus intime; so you were about to leave London without telling me a word,” said Francis Ardry, somewhat angrily.
“I intended to have written to you,” said I: “what a splendid mare that is!”
“Is she not?” said Francis Ardry, who was holding in the mare with difficulty; “she cost a hundred guineas.”
“Qu’est-ce qu’il dit?” demanded his companion.