Just as I was about to cross the street called the Haymarket, at the lower part, a cabriolet, drawn by a magnificent animal, came dashing along at a furious rate; it stopped close by the curb-stone where I was, a sudden pull of the reins nearly bringing the spirited animal upon its haunches. The Jehu who had accomplished this feat was Francis Ardry. A small beautiful female, with flashing eyes, dressed in the extremity of fashion, sat beside him. ‘Holloa, friend,’ said Francis Ardry, ‘whither bound?’ ‘I do not know,’ said I; ‘all I can say is, that I am about to leave London.’ ‘And the means?’ said Francis Ardry. ‘I have them,’ said I, with a cheerful smile. ‘Qui est celui-ci?’ demanded the small female, impatiently. ‘C’est—mon ami le plus intime; so you were about to leave London, without telling me a word,’ said Francis Ardry, somewhat angrily. ‘I intended to have written to you,’ said I: ‘what a splendid mare that is.’ ‘Is she not?’ said Francis Ardry, who was holding in the mare with difficulty; ‘she cost a hundred guineas.’ ‘Qu’est ce qu’il dit?’ demanded his companion. ‘Il dit que le jument est bien beau.’ ‘Allons, mon ami, il est tard,’ said the beauty, with a scornful toss of her head; ‘allons!’ ‘Encore un moment,’ said Francis Ardry; ‘and when shall I see you again?’ ‘I scarcely know,’ I replied: ‘I never saw a more splendid turn out.’ ‘Qu’est ce qu’il dit?’ said the lady again. ‘Il dit que tout l’équipage est en assez bon goût.’ ‘Allons, c’est un ours,’ said the lady; ‘le cheval même en a peur,’ added she, as the mare reared up on high. ‘Can you find nothing else to admire but the mare and the equipage?’ said Francis Ardry, reproachfully, after he had with some difficulty brought the mare to order. Lifting my hand, in which I held my stick, I took off my hat. ‘How beautiful!’ said I, looking the lady full in the face. ‘Comment?’ said the lady, inquiringly. ‘Il dit que vous êtes belle comme un ange,’ said Francis Ardry, emphatically. ‘Mais, à la bonne heure! arrêtez, mon ami,’ said the lady to Francis Ardry, who was about to drive off; ‘je voudrais bien causer un moment avec lui; arrêtez, il est délicieux.—Est-ce bien ainsi que vous traitez vos amis?’ said she passionately, as Francis Ardry lifted up his whip. ‘Bon jour, Monsieur, bon jour,’ said she, thrusting her head from the side and looking back, as Francis Ardry drove off at the rate of thirteen miles an hour. CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE THE MILESTONE—MEDITATION—WANT TO GET UP?—SIXTEEN SHILLINGS—NEAR-HAND WHEELER—ALL RIGHT