"Very good," said the secretary, "I will send the groom with it."
The embassador proceeded to fill up the passport: "We, Envoy Extraordinary, &c., invite the civil and military authorities to allow M. le Comte, with his horse, to pass, and in case of need, to render all possible aid and assistance to ——"
Here occurred a blank, in view of the fact that the applicant might possess either wife or family. The good embassador (whom it is reasonable to suppose a bachelor) reckoning the horse equivalent to one or the other—filled up the blank with the word "them."
The signature being appended, the task of filling up the description was left to the attaché.
In due time the groom arrived. The sub-officia copied faithfully the description of the count's gelding.
Age—three years and a half.
Height—fourteen hands.
Hair—dark sorrel.
Forehead—spotted with white.
Eyes—very lively.
Nose—broad nostrils.
Mouth—A little hard.
Beard—none (the count was a veritable Turk).
Complexion—none.
Private marks—ears very long; small star branded on the left thigh.
In course of time the count departed, his passport in the guardianship of his accomplished secretary.
The frontier officers are not, travelers will remember, either very brilliant men, or very witty men. They have a dull eye for a joke.
The count's passport was scrutinized severely; the description did not accord accurately, in the opinion of the sergent of police, with the actual man. The sergent pulled his mustache, looked wise—and put Monsieur le Comte under arrest. The story about the horse was a poor story. The sergent was not to be outwitted in that fashion.
The consequence was a detention under guard for four days, until the necessary explanations could be returned from Paris, and the sergent be fully persuaded that the description attached to the count's horse, and not to some dangerous political refugee.