“Where’s the Sixth Light Regiment?” she called out.
“Over there, five minutes off, in front of the canal that runs along those willows. And Colonel Macon has just been killed.”
“Will you take five francs for that horse of yours?”
“Five francs! That’s a pretty fair joke, my good woman! Five francs for an officer’s charger that I shall sell for five napoleons before the hour’s out!”
“Give me one of your napoleons,” whispered the cantinière to Fabrizio; then, going close up to the man on horseback, “Get off, and look sharp about it!” she said; “here’s your napoleon.”
The soldier slipped off, and Fabrizio sprang gaily into his saddle, while the cantinière unfastened the little valise he had carried on the other.
“Here! why don’t you help me, you fellows?” said she to the soldier. “What do you mean by letting a lady work!” But the captured charger no sooner felt the valise than he began to plunge, and Fabrizio, who was a first-rate horseman, had to use all his skill to retain his seat. “That’s a good sign,” said the cantinière; “the gentleman’s not accustomed to the tickling of valises!”
“It’s a general’s horse,” cried the soldier who had sold it. “That horse is worth ten napoleons if it’s worth a farthing.”
“Here are twenty francs for you,” said Fabrizio, who was beside himself with joy at feeling a spirited animal between his legs.
Just at this moment a round shot came whizzing slantwise through the row of willows, and Fabrizio enjoyed the curious sight of all the little branches flying left and right as if they had been mowed off with a scythe. “Humph!” said the soldier, as he pocketed his twenty francs, “the worry’s beginning.” It was about two o’clock in the day.