"Why, sir, when Petit-jean was driving M. le Commandant, the last year but one--he was going to the Baths for the gout, sir--he did not get down to the bridge till near ten at night; there was no parapet then, the horses did not know the road, and over they went, roll, roll, all the way into the Dor at the bottom; thirty feet, sir, and more, and then the cascade to add to that." "Dreadful! and did no trace remain of the unfortunate traveller and your poor friend?" "Oh, certainly yes! they got well wetted; but they rode the horses into the village the same evening." "Who were lost, then?" "Petit-jean's new boots, and 'twas the first time he had put them on." I jumped into the cabriolet; "drive on," said I pettishly, "and go to the ----" "Hi! hardi! Sacré coquin!" and crash went the whip over the off horse's flank, enough to cut a steak of his lean sides had there been any flesh to spare. In a quarter of an hour we found ourselves going down a steep rough road, such as might break the springs of the best carriage, chariot, britscha, &c., that ever came out of Long-Acre; and the thumps that I got against the sides of my own vehicle, light as it was, made me call out for a little less speed, and somewhat more care. "Don't be afraid, Monsieur! Hi! hardi! heugh!" I thought it was all over with me; so, holding in my breath, and firmly clenching the top of my apron, I looked straight a-head, and made up my mind for a pitch over the wall at the bottom, and down through the wood, like the commandant and Petit-jean. Just as we got to the bottom of the hill, we turned a sharp corner, that I had not before perceived, and charged, full gallop, right into an old shandrydan, that had pulled up, and, with a single horse, was beginning to climb the ascent. Our impetus seemed to carry us over the poor animal that was straining against its load, for he fell under our two beasts, and the shafts of the cabriolet catching the shandrydan under the driver's seat, turned it completely topsy-turvy into the midst of the road. Such a shriek, or rather such a chorus of confused cries, came forth from the dark sides of that small and closely-shut vehicle! "Au secours!" "Jesus-Maria!" "Vite, vite!" "Relevez-nous!" "Pour l'amour de Dieu!" They were women's voices:-- "Ah ça, j'étouffe!" said a deep, gruff voice, in the midst of the hubbub. As neither the postilion nor myself were hurt, we were quickly on our legs: he trying to get the horses disentangled--for they were kicking each other to pieces--and I to aid a thin, meek-looking peasant lad, who had been driving the shandrydan, to right the crazy vehicle.