On Nocket’s neck. ’Tis sometime past;
Still, if the story be but true,
We yet may see it—I or you.
A STORY OF A WOODEN HORSE.
CHAPTER III.
JOURNEY TO PARIS.—CRESSIDA IN THE GARDEN OF THE LUXEMBOURG.—MAURICE’S UNCLE.—A GREAT TEMPTATION.—MAURICE KEEPS HIS WORD.
Mr. and Mrs. de Roisel were accustomed to spend the winter in Paris; and when November came on, and the time for their departure arrived, it was not without anxiety that Maurice thought of taking Cressida to live on the first floor of a Paris house. The rooms were large and handsome, it is true, but not suitable for a horse: it was necessary, however, to make the best of circumstances.
They drove to the railway station at Savigny, where Mr. de Roisel arranged for them to have a carriage to themselves, and Cressida was lifted into it, for Maurice wanted to make the journey to Paris mounted, on the back of his horse. Off they started: my little friend, firmly seated on his saddle, went along at the rate of forty miles an hour. In less than an hour, however, they reached Paris, and then Maurice confessed that he felt tired: it was the first time he had made so long a journey on horseback.
Arrived at their own house, Maurice at once set about making the pony as comfortable as he could. The first night Cressida had to rough it a little; but in the course of two or three days Maurice had fitted up in his own bedroom a stable, which corresponded with the general comfort and elegance of the rooms occupied by the family.