“‘Nay, nay,’ replied the boy, colouring, ‘I meant to have asked you but for a ride on your steed to Mother Rigaut’s door.’ “And as the child spoke, he looked with envy at the rough post-horse, which, all unkempt and shaggy as he was, appeared far superior to the rude animals employed in plough or cart—the only ones ever seen in that distant village. “‘Is that all?’ said the good-natured bailli, ‘then come along—mount—quick, my lad—there—jump up in the twinkling of an eye.’ “The boy, lame as he was, sprang into the saddle, but the portly person of the bailli prevented him from taking a safe seat, so he leaned his little crutch upon the toe of the bailli’s boot, and grappled the horse’s mane with a firm grasp, almost standing upright; while the bailli, heedless of his perilous situation, trotted over the rough stones of the village pavement, the bells at the horse’s bridle jingling merrily, and the loud laugh—half fear, half delight—of the bold urchin echoing far and near. Of course the whole village was roused in an instant, and the astonishment was great at beholding Mother Rigaut’s ‘Charlot’ trotting down the street upon a strange gentleman’s steed, his long fair hair blown about by the wind, and his face shining and glowing amid the golden masses of silken curls which fell over it. “The bailli stopped at Mother Rigaut’s door, but so little was he prepared to meet the truth, that he bade the boy, with whom he seemed mightily pleased, hold the horse while he entered the house to speak to the good woman, who was already standing on the threshold, all smiles and courtesies, to welcome the strange gentleman. The bailli entered and closed the door after him. What passed within none can tell. It must have been an extraordinary scene, for the sound of voices in high dispute was heard for some minutes—a sound of sobbing and of wailing, and of loud expostulation; and presently the bailli was seen bursting from the cottage, and rushing upon the boy, and hugging and embracing him with transports of affection; then, all pale and trembling with emotion, he waved back with his riding-whip the advances of Mère Rigaut, who was pressing forward to clasp the child in her arms, and, seizing him in a sturdy grasp, he threw him on the saddle, and sprang up after him. But this time he allowed him room enough to ride at ease, and bade him sit in comfort, and then he placed his brawny arm round the boy’s middle with solicitude, to keep him firm upon the saddle, and, putting spurs to the capering post-horse, he dashed out of the village without even asking news of any other child, or suffering the boy to take a last farewell of the Mère Rigaut, who followed him with shrieks and lamentations until he was lost to sight.