"Let's see if he'll go in any more now than he did then," cried La Rouquerie.
Palikare followed Perrine up to the Market gates obediently, but once there he stopped short. She insisted, and talked, and pulled at the rope, but it was no use. Finally he sat down in the middle of the street.
"Palikare, do come! Do come, dear Palikare," Perrine said, imploringly.
But he sat there as though he did not understand a word of what she was saying. A crowd gathered round and began to jeer.
"Set fire to his tail," cried one.
Grain-of-Salt was furious, Perrine in despair.
"You see he won't go in," cried La Rouquerie. "I'll give thirty francs, that's ten more'n I said, 'cause his cunning shows that this donkey is a good boy, but hurry up and take the money or I'll buy another."
Grain-of-Salt consulted Perrine with a glance; he made her a sign that she ought to accept the offer. But she seemed stunned at such a fraud. She was standing there undecided when a policeman told her roughly that she was blocking up the street and that she must move on.
"Go forward, or go back, but don't stand there," he ordered.
She could not go forward, for Palikare had no intention of doing so. As soon as he understood that she had given up all hope of getting him into the Market, he got up and followed her docilely, agitating his long ears with satisfaction.