"It is not our fault if our horse will not go any faster."
"That is true; Uncle Mignon, you are a witness that it is the horse’s fault."
"Yes, yes, yes!" replied Mignon; "oh, yes! it is the horse."
"This wretched beast isn’t going to be married," said Robineau, lashing the poor creature with all his might.
"Perhaps if he were, he would go still lamer," said Férulus in an undertone.
"Ah! one’s wedding-day is a great day, messieurs!" said Robineau with a sigh.
"It is a day which serves as a memento, monseigneur.—Est pater ille quem nuptiæ demonstrant."
"Yes, yes, yes!" assented Mignon with a smile.
"I confess," continued Robineau, "that I thought myself stronger, more stoical; but it is true that my bride is so ravishing—it upsets me so—I am all of a tremble.—I beg pardon, messieurs, but let us stop a moment, if you please."
He stopped the horse, which asked nothing better. Then he alighted and stepped a hedge, while Monsieur Férulus observed: