"That is the way to have them; you will rise less."
"Why, I came just within an ace of going over my horse’s head. I like my stirrup leathers very short; that gives one a much firmer seat.—Take them up a little for me, Germain—a little more; that’s right.—There—now I am glued to my saddle."
"Well! may we start now?"
"Yes, yes; let us start."
Alfred and Edouard rode off and Robineau followed them. Despite the shortened stirrup leathers, he bumped and rolled about on his saddle, although he had grasped the pommel with his right hand. As they were in Paris, they went no faster than a slow trot, and Robineau succeeded in keeping pace with them, calling out from time to time:
"Not so fast, messieurs! galloping in the streets of Paris is forbidden."
"But we are not galloping, are we?"
"Never mind—don’t go so fast, I beg you; I am not used to it yet, and then it’s more amusing to go slowly."
When they reached the Champs-Elysées, Robineau was already drenched with perspiration, and his hat, which the jolting had displaced, was so far back on his head that his hair flew about unconfined over his brow.
"Come on, Monsieur Jules," said Edouard, "let us have a bit of a canter here; it’s a superb road."