“A napoleon—is that enough?”
“Indeed, sir, it is too much,” she replied, “for the horse cost me only the trouble of asking for it. But if you like to give so much, sir——”
“Where did you get it?” asked Mr. de Roisel.
“Well, I got it in this way, sir. You must know I go twice every day into the town to take milk to different houses. One afternoon I was at the house of a rich gentleman, when I heard him call out to the servant to throw this little horse into the fire. It was in much better condition then than it is now, and though it might not be good enough for that rich gentleman’s children to play with, it was quite good enough for mine. So I begged the servant to give it me rather than burn it, and he let me have it. There you see, sir, how I got it without paying anything. We poor people do not buy wooden horses for our children.”
Mr. de Roisel gave the napoleon to the good woman, and some money also to her little boy.
“May God for ever bless you, my good gentleman,” said she, astonished at his generosity; and she almost suspected that he must know of some hidden treasure inside the little horse.
When Eusèbe heard how Maurice had recovered Cressida, he was furious, and wanted the servant to be immediately sent away who had spared the little horse from burning. That evening Mr. de Malassise gave an account of the circumstances under which he had bought the horse, and spoke of the suspicion he had felt from the first of the man who sold it. The next day information was given to the police, and it was not long before the seller of the horse was arrested. He proved to be one of the thieves who had broken into Mr. Duberger’s house. His accomplice was a man who went about the country as a pedlar, selling ribbons, silk-handkerchiefs, and toys. In this way he used to obtain access to houses, learning where valuable things were kept, and what were the habits of the family. The two together had committed the robbery: both were tried and convicted.
Mr. Duberger recovered only a small portion of the objects of art that had been stolen, but he was much rejoiced to hear that Maurice had got back his horse.
It was the month of October, and Maurice had returned to his own country home, where Cressida was installed once more in its old stable. But the poor pony had lost its former activity; it could not go faster than a walk, and even that with difficulty.
One morning Maurice was in the garden, when he saw Fritz approaching him, walking as fast as his old legs would carry him, and having an open letter in his hand. My little friend ran to meet him, when the old man embraced the child with tears in his eyes, and called him his benefactor. Seeing that Maurice did not understand why he used the word, Fritz tried to explain, but for some time he was too much affected to say anything intelligible.