"I believe about five miles," said I, with a prodigious effort to make my pronunciation pass muster.
"You're a stranger in these parts, I see, sir," rejoined he, with a cunning glance at his friend, while he added, lower, "Was I right, Hill?"
Although seeing that all concealment was now hopeless, I was in no wise disposed to plead guilty at once, and therefore, with a cut of my switch, pushed my beast into a sharp canter to get forward.
My friends, however, gave chase, and now the jaunting-car, notwithstanding the sufferings of the invalid, was clattering after me at about nine miles an hour. At first I rather enjoyed the malice of the penalty their curiosity was costing, but as I remembered that the invalid was not the chief offender, I began to feel compunction at the severity of the lesson, and drew up to a walk.
They at once shortened their pace, and came up beside me.
"A clever hack you're riding, sir," said the inquisitive man.
"Not so bad for an animal of this country," said I, superciliously.
"Oh, then, what kind of a horse are you accustomed to?" asked he, half insolently.
"The Limousin," said I, coolly, "what we always mount in our Hussar regiments in France."
"And you are a French soldier, then?" cried he, in evident astonishment at my frankness.