“On the day when he gave me my cross, I noticed his beast. It was a racing mare, perfectly white. Her ears were very wide apart, her saddle deep, a fine head marked with a black star, a very long neck, strongly articulated knees, prominent ribs, oblique shoulders and a powerful crupper. A little more than fifteen hands in height.”

“A pretty horse,” remarked the hairdresser.

“It was His Majesty’s beast.”

The hairdresser felt, that after this observation, a short silence would be fitting, so he conformed himself to it, and then went on:⁠—

“The Emperor was never wounded but once, was he, sir?”

The old soldier replied with the calm and sovereign tone of a man who had been there:⁠—

“In the heel. At Ratisbon. I never saw him so well dressed as on that day. He was as neat as a new sou.”