"Pray dismount, my pretty Milanese," said the Chevalier de La Valteline, offering his hand to the girl, whose name, as we now know, was Miretta.
"Milanese!" she retorted, refusing the young nobleman's hand. "Ah! you guess that from my costume; it is true that I have lived in the neighborhood of Milan from infancy, but I was not born in Italy; I am from the same province as Cédrille."
"And Cédrille is a Béarnais?"
"Yes, messieurs; from Pau, by your leave," said the peasant.
"Vive Cédrille!"
"Vive Cédrille of Pau!"
And the young nobles, as they shouted the name, waved their hats and handkerchiefs, while the bachelors and squires joined hands and began to dance and caper around the horse and his riders.
The girl's face flushed, her impatience got the better of her; she struck the horse's flank with her hand, while the peasant did his best to urge his steed forward, crying:
"Let go of Bourriquet's rein, seigneurs! let go of my horse, ten thousand devils!"
"Ah! Bourriquet! the horse's name is Bourriquet!"