"You need not fear, for we can trot perfectly well."
The trot down-hill stopped the stout Sévère's breath, and prevented her talking. She was extremely vexed, as she had expected to coax the young man with her soft words, but she was unwilling to let him see that she was neither young nor slender enough to stand fatigue, and was silent for a part of the way.
When they came to a chestnut grove, she took it into her head to say:
"Stop, François; you must stop, dear François. The mare has just lost a shoe."
"Even if she has lost a shoe," said François, "I have neither hammer nor nails to put it on with."
"But we must not lose the shoe. It is worth something! Get down, I say, and look for it."
"I might look two hours for it, among these ferns, without finding it. And my eyes are not lanterns."
"Oh, yes, François," said Sévère, half in jest and half in earnest; "your eyes shine like glowworms."
"Then you can see them through my hat, I suppose?" answered François, not at all pleased with what he took for derision.
"I cannot see them just now," said Sévère with a sigh as big as herself; "but I have seen them at other times!"