From the town-hall he betook himself to the extremity of the town, to a Fleming named Master Scaufflaer, French Scaufflaire, who let out 'horses and cabriolets as desired.
' In order to reach this Scaufflaire, the shortest way was to take the little-frequented street in which was situated the parsonage of the parish in which M. Madeleine resided. The curé was, it was said, a worthy, respectable, and sensible man. At the moment when M.
Madeleine arrived in front of the parsonage there was but one passer-by in the street, and this person noticed this: After the mayor had passed the priest’s house he halted, stood motionless, then turned about, and retraced his steps to the door of the parsonage, which had an iron knocker.
He laid his hand quickly on the knocker and lifted it; then he paused again and stopped short, as though in thought, and after the lapse of a few seconds, instead of allowing the knocker to fall abruptly, he placed it gently, and resumed his way with a sort of haste which had not been apparent previously.
M. Madeleine found Master Scaufflaire at home, engaged in stitching a harness over. 'Master Scaufflaire,' he inquired, 'have you a good horse? ' 'Mr. Mayor,' said the Fleming, 'all my horses are good. What do you mean by a good horse?
' 'I mean a horse which can travel twenty leagues in a day. ' 'The deuce! ' said the Fleming. 'Twenty leagues! ' 'Yes. ' 'Hitched to a cabriolet? ' 'Yes. ' 'And how long can he rest at the end of his journey?
' 'He must be able to set out again on the next day if necessary. ' 'To traverse the same road? ' 'Yes. ' 'The deuce! the deuce! And it is twenty leagues? ' M. Madeleine drew from his pocket the paper on which he had pencilled