“There’s a village just ahead of us, your Excellency,” said one of his officers. “Shall I ride on and see if I can find a blacksmith?”
“Do so,” answered Saxe; and the officer came back presently to say that he had found what he wanted. So the horse was led up to the door of the smithy, and the smith himself came out to have a look at it.
The moment he appeared, the marshal fastened his eyes upon him as if he would look him right through. And well he might; for this smith was such a man as one does not see every day—very nearly as tall as Saxe himself, and even broader across the shoulders, while upon his bare arms the huge muscles stood out under the tanned skin like coils of rope. The marshal felt at once that he could never be comfortable till he had had a trial of strength with this sturdy-looking fellow; so he bade him bring out one of his best horse-shoes.
The smith did so; and Saxe, looking at it, said quietly: “This ware of yours is but poor stuff, my friend; it will not stand work. Look here!”
He took it in his strong hands, and with one twist broke the iron like a biscuit.
The smith looked at him for a moment, and then, without seeming at all taken aback, brought out a second horse-shoe, and a third; but Saxe broke them as easily as he had broken the first.
“Come,” said he, “I see it’s no use picking and choosing among such a trashy lot; give me the first shoe that comes to hand, and we’ll cry quits.”
The smith produced a fourth shoe, and fitted it on; and Saxe tossed him a French crown—a coin about the size of a silver dollar. The Dutchman held it up to the light, and shook his head.
“This coin of yours is but poor metal, mynheer,” said he, saying the words just as the marshal had spoken his. “It wont stand work. Look here!”
He took the coin between his finger and thumb, and with one pinch cracked it in two like a wafer. [B]