After leaving the inn, the two strangers took themselves off for a quarter of an hour to decide upon their plans, then strolled like a couple of inquisitive idlers toward the post-station in front of which the traveller's carriage stood, nearly ready for departure, as the postilion was already putting fresh horses to it. Captain Russell and his companion approached the vehicle, and, seating themselves upon one of the benches in front of the post-house, pretended to be examining the animals that were being harnessed, with a knowing eye. "You have a horse there that seems to be as willing as he is handsome," Russell remarked to the postilion, after a few minutes' scrutiny. "And he is as good as he looks, my friend," replied the postilion, pleased by the well-deserved praise bestowed upon his steed, "so I call him the Friar, and he is worthy of his name." "He's a fine animal, there's no doubt of that. What a broad chest he has, and what powerful withers and flanks!" "And what a beautiful head he has!" chimed in Pietri. "It is as delicate and intelligent as that of any Arabian steed." "It is evident that you are both good judges of horse flesh, gentlemen, so you won't doubt my word when I tell you that I can get over a mile or two of ground in the twinkling of an eye with the Friar and Sans-Culotte, as I call his mate." "Yes, it must be a real pleasure to have a horse like that between one's legs, my worthy fellow. Though I'm a sailor, I've ridden horseback a good deal, but I never had the good fortune to bestride an animal like that." "I can very readily believe that, monsieur; but this I know, you will never bestride a finer one." "And it is too bad!" "I don't see what you are going to do about it." "Would you like to make forty francs, my friend?" inquired the Englishman, after a brief silence. "Forty francs, I?" exclaimed the astonished postilion. "Yes." "But how the devil could I?" "In the easiest way imaginable." "Let me hear it." Just as the Englishman was about to make known his proposition, a waiter from the inn crossed the street to tell the postilion that he need not be in a hurry, for the traveller would not be ready for some time. "What is he doing? and why did he order his horses so long ahead, then?" "I don't know anything about that, but I do know he's a queer one. What do you think he dined on? He drank milk instead of wine, and ate some poached eggs and panada." "Panada? Well, he must be a queer one!" said Jean Pierre, scornfully. Then turning to Russell, "Come, friend, what were you going to tell me a few minutes ago about--" "Step into the stable-yard, my good fellow, I want to say a few words to you." "I can't leave the Friar; he would be sure to cut up some caper. He's always fussing with Sans-Culotte. Whoa, you rascal! See, he's beginning his antics now. Whoa, there! if you break away, you brigand, I'll give you a beating you'll remember."