The drover’s saddle is his whole fortune. He cherishes it, loves it, takes pride in it.
“Your saddle?” rejoined Renaud suspiciously. “Come with me and get it! Bernard will give it to you.”
He shrugged his shoulders, and without another word rode after the drove, leading back to it the emaciated horse which Rampal had sadly misused.
He was extremely glad that Blanchet had had no part in this duel. He recognized Blanchet from afar in among the mares, but sleeker and better cared for than the others. A true lady’s horse, staunch as he was!—And now he would be able to return him to his mistress, as he had his former horse, in addition to Prince. And his nostrils dilated with the pride of victory. He inhaled long draughts of the bracing salt air.
He was thinking of two women—yes, of two, not one only!—who would say of him when they heard what had taken place: “That is a man!” And Renaud’s noble horse shared his master’s pride, as he capered about, in the liberty accorded him to choose his own pace, with the proud bearing of a stallion that had won the race in the sight of his whole drove.
XV
MONSIEUR LE CURÉ’S ARCHÆOLOGY
The curé of Saintes-Maries was a man of about sixty, well preserved, very tall and stout, with bright eyes whose light he quenched with spectacles, and energetic gestures which he purposely restrained.
The parsonage was near the church, the doorway shaded by a number of elms. The house, in accordance with the prevailing custom of the province, was whitewashed once a year, outside and in, like the houses of the Arabs.