“That it is very cold?”
M. Madeleine preserved silence.
Master Scaufflaire continued:—
“That it may rain?”
M. Madeleine raised his head and said:—
“The tilbury and the horse will be in front of my door to-morrow morning at half-past four o’clock.”
“Of course, Monsieur le Maire,” replied Scaufflaire; then, scratching a speck in the wood of the table with his thumb-nail, he resumed with that careless air which the Flemings understand so well how to mingle with their shrewdness:—
“But this is what I am thinking of now: Monsieur le Maire has not told me where he is going. Where is Monsieur le Maire going?”
He had been thinking of nothing else since the beginning of the conversation, but he did not know why he had not dared to put the question.
“Are your horse’s forelegs good?” said M. Madeleine.