When the ass had eaten his macaroon, I press’d him to come in—the poor beast was heavy loaded——his legs seem’d to tremble under him——he hung rather backwards, and as I pull’d at his halter, it broke short in my hand——he look’d up pensive in my face—“Don’t thrash me with it—but if you will, you may”——If I do, said I, I’ll be d——d.
The word was but one-half of it pronounced, like the abbess of Andoüillets’—(so there was no sin in it)—when a person coming in, let fall a thundering bastinado upon the poor devil’s crupper, which put an end to the ceremony.
Out upon it!
cried I——but the interjection was equivocal——and, I think, wrong placed too—for the end of an osier which had started out from the contexture of the ass’s pannier, had caught hold of my breeches pocket, as he rush’d by me, and rent it in the most disastrous direction you can imagine——so that the
Out upon it! in my opinion, should have come in here——but this I leave to be settled by
THE
REVIEWERS
OF
MY BREECHES,
which I have brought over along with me for that purpose.
[ CHAPTER XXXIII]
When all was set to rights, I came down stairs again into the basse cour with my valet de place, in order to sally out towards the tomb of the two lovers, &c.—and was a second time stopp’d at the gate——not by the ass—but by the person who struck him; and who, by that time, had taken possession (as is not uncommon after a defeat) of the very spot of ground where the ass stood.
It was a commissary sent to me from the post-office, with a rescript in his hand for the payment of some six livres odd sous.