"Monsieur! voyez-vous! it is the most villainous road I know; and if we do not push on, we shall not get to Mont Dor before dark. I would not go over the bridge at the bottom there in the dark, no Monsieur, not if I had the honour to be carrying M. Le Préfet himself. They were never found, Monsieur!"
"Who were never found?"
"Why, sir, when Petit-jean was driving M. le Commandant, the last year but one—he was going to the Baths for the gout, sir—he did not get down to the bridge till near ten at night; there was no parapet then, the horses did not know the road, and over they went, roll, roll, all the way into the Dor at the bottom; thirty feet, sir, and more, and then the cascade to add to that."
"Dreadful! and did no trace remain of the unfortunate traveller and your poor friend?"
"Oh, certainly yes! they got well wetted; but they rode the horses into the village the same evening."
"Who were lost, then?"
"Petit-jean's new boots, and 'twas the first time he had put them on."
I jumped into the cabriolet; "drive on," said I pettishly, "and go to the ——"
"Hi! hardi! Sacré coquin!" and crash went the whip over the off horse's flank, enough to cut a steak of his lean sides had there been any flesh to spare. In a quarter of an hour we found ourselves going down a steep rough road, such as might break the springs of the best carriage, chariot, britscha, &c., that ever came out of Long-Acre; and the thumps that I got against the sides of my own vehicle, light as it was, made me call out for a little less speed, and somewhat more care.
"Don't be afraid, Monsieur! Hi! hardi! heugh!"