Chérubin went out with his two friends; he was beside himself with delight at the thought of a riding party. Being still a novice in all sorts of pleasure, Nicole’s foster-child had never before ridden anything but plough horses.
They went to the stable-keeper, who ordered his three best horses saddled. Just as the gentlemen were mounting, they heard a voice calling:
“Well! isn’t there a horse for me too?”
Thereupon they discovered Jasmin, who had followed his master, after tightening the waistband of his breeches as much as possible, covering his head with a long-vizored cap, which entirely concealed his eyes and nose, and arming himself with a hunting crop.
Chérubin and his friends could not help laughing at the aspect of Jasmin in the garb of a groom, and Monfréville exclaimed:
“This old servant’s devotion is becoming very painful.”
“But I don’t need you, Jasmin,” said Chérubin; “go back to the house; you can’t come with me, it would tire you too much.”
“I know my duty, monsieur,” replied Jasmin; “my place is always in your rear.”
“Yes, yes, he is right,” said Daréna; “and as he insists on coming with us, why, let him come.—A horse for this faithful retainer—a good little trotting horse. Jasmin has the look of an excellent rider.”
“He will certainly be thrown,” said Chérubin, in an undertone.