At last the horse, created superior to man in the art of running, gained on the biped Pitou, and at the same time he heard the voice of the horseman, who no longer cried “Hou! hou!” but clearly and distinctly, “Pitou! Pitou!”
All was over. All was lost.
However, Pitou endeavored to continue the race. It had become a sort of mechanical movement; he rushed on, impelled by the power of repulsion. Suddenly, his knees failed him; he staggered and fell at full length, with his face to the ground.
But at the same time that he thus fell, fully resolved not to get up again,—at all events, of his own free will,—he received a lash from a horsewhip which wound round his loins.
With a tremendous oath, which was not unfamiliar to his ears, a well-known voice cried out to him,—
“How now, you stupid fellow! how now, you simpleton! have you sworn to founder Cadet?”
The name of Cadet at once dispelled all Pitou’s suspense.
“Ah!” cried he, turning himself round, so that instead of lying upon his face he lay upon his back,—”Ah! I hear the voice of Monsieur Billot!”
It was in fact Goodman Billot. When Pitou was well assured of his identity, he assumed a sitting posture.
The farmer, on his side, had pulled up Cadet, covered with flakes of foam.
“Ah! dear Monsieur Billot,” exclaimed Pitou, “how kind it is of you to ride in this way after me! I swear to you I should have returned to the farm after having expended the double louis Mademoiselle Catherine gave me. But since you are here, take back your double louis,—for of course it must be yours,—and let us return to the farm.”
“A thousand devils!” exclaimed Billot; “who was thinking of the farm? Where are the mouchards?”
“The mouchards?” inquired Pitou, who did not comprehend the meaning of this word, which had only just been admitted into the vocabulary of our language.
“Yes, the mouchards,”2 rejoined Billot; “the men in black. Do you not understand me?”
“Ah! the men in black! You will readily understand, my dear Monsieur Billot, that I did not amuse myself by waiting for them.”
“Bravo! You have left them behind, then?”
“Why, I flatter myself I have; after the race I have run, it was to be expected, as it appears to me.”
“Then, if you were so sure of your affair, what the devil made you run at such a rate?”
“Because I thought it was their chief, who, not to be outwitted, was pursuing me on horseback.”
“Well, well! You are not quite so simple as I thought you. Then, as the road is clear, up up! and away for Dammartin!”
“What do you mean by ‘up, up’?”
“Yes, get up and come with me.”
“We are going, then, to Dammartin?”
“Yes. I will borrow a horse, there, of old Lefranc. I will leave Cadet with him, for he can go no farther; and to-night we will push on to Paris.”
“Be it so, Monsieur Billot; be it so.”
“Well, then, up!—up!”
Pitou made an effort to obey him.
“I should much wish to do as you desire,” said he, “but, my dear Monsieur Billot, I cannot.”
“How,—you cannot get up?”
“No.”
“But just now you could manage to turn round.”
“Oh, just now! that was by no means astonishing. I heard your voice, and at the same moment I received a swingeing cut across the back. But such things can only succeed once. At present, I am accustomed to your voice; and as to your whip, I feel well assured that you can only apply it to managing our poor Cadet, who is almost as heated as I am.”
Pitou’s logic, which, after all, was nothing more than the Abbé Fortier’s, persuaded, and even affected, the farmer.
“I have not time to sympathize in your fate,” said he to Pitou; “but, come now, make an effort and get up behind me.”
“Why,” said Pitou, “that would be, indeed, the way to founder Cadet at once, poor beast!”
“Pooh! in half an hour we shall be at old Lefranc’s.”
“But it appears to me, dear Monsieur Billot,” said Pitou, “that it would be altogether useless for me to go with you to old Lefranc’s.”