"I'm glad you're not on board there, Carette."
"I think I am too—just now," she laughed quietly.
We took the north road at La Vauroque, where we came on George Hamon, gazing gloomily after Black Boy and his rider, who were flying along the road to Colinette, and judging from his face there was a curse on his lips as he turned to us, which was very unusual with him. He brightened, however, when he saw us.
"B'en! That's all right," he said very heartily. "Gray Robin is a proud horse this day, ma'm'zelle, with the prettiest maid in the Island on his back—and the best man," he added meaningly. "I'm just hoping that crazy Frenchman will bring my Black Boy back all safe and sound. He's got more than a bit of the devil in him at times—the horse, I mean. The other, too, maybe. And he's more used to harness than the saddle. However—luck to you!"
He waved his hand, and we jogged on past the Cemetery, and so by La Rondellerie and La Moinerie, where the holy Maglorius once lived—as you may see by the ruins of his house and the cells of his disciples—to Belfontaine, where my mother came out with full eyes to give us greeting.
And to prevent any mistake which might put Carette to confusion, I did my clumsy best to make a joke of the matter.
"Your stupid was nearly too late, mother, and so Carette rides out with me and back with Monsieur Torode."
"Under the circumstances it was good of Carette to give you a share, mon gars."
"Oh, I'm grateful. One's sheaf is never quite as one would have it, and one takes the good that comes."
"How glad you must have been to see him back, Mrs. Carré!" said Carette. "You never gave him up, I know."