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make it good. The little horse was courageous, and pulled
for two; but it was the month of February, there had been
rain; the roads were bad. And then, it was no longer the
tilbury. The cart was very heavy, and in addition, there were
many ascents.
He took nearly four hours to go from Hesdin to Saint-
Pol; four hours for five leagues.
At Saint-Pol he had the horse unharnessed at the first
inn he came to and led to the stable; as he had promised
Scaufflaire, he stood beside the manger while the horse was
eating; he thought of sad and confusing things.
The inn-keeper’s wife came to the stable.
‘Does not Monsieur wish to breakfast?’
‘Come, that is true; I even have a good appetite.’
He followed the woman, who had a rosy, cheerful face;
she led him to the public room where there were tables cov-
ered with waxed cloth.
‘Make haste!’ said he; ‘I must start again; I am in a hur-
r y.’
A big Flemish servant-maid placed his knife and fork in
all haste; he looked at the girl with a sensation of comfort.
‘That is what ailed me,’ he thought; ‘I had not breakfast-
ed.’
His breakfast was served; he seized the bread, took a
mouthful, and then slowly replaced it on the table, and did
not touch it again.
A carter was eating at another table; he said to this
man:—
‘Why is their bread so bitter here?’