“Of course, Monsieur le Maire,” replied Scaufflaire; then, scratching a speck in the wood of the table with his thumbnail, 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.

“Yes, Monsieur le Maire. You must hold him in a little when going down hill. Are there many descends between here and the place whither you are going?”