“I come from my father. You must come with me at once.”
“But comrade Rampal borrowed my horse just now to go to Saintes. They went off one upon the other.”
“Take mine, then,” said Livette.
“And what will you do, young lady?”
She was ashamed of her thoughtlessness, and blushed scarlet.
“I?” said she, and the words of the ballad rang in her heart:
“Prends tes amours en croupe,
En avant!”
“Unless,” said he, laughing in his turn, “you care to take me en croupe?”
“People would never stop talking about it all over our Camargue,” said she, with laughter in her voice. “A drover like you, the terror of riders, en croupe like a girl? No, no; no false shame, that is my place. We will take off my saddle, and you can bring it to me to-morrow.”
“Very luckily,” said Renaud, “Rampal didn’t take mine, which I never lend.”