Short Stories, vol 6 | Page 5

He raised the horse's legs and felt them one after another, passed his
hand over the animal's neck, flank and hocks, opened his mouth,
examined his teeth, declared his age; and then, the whole household
having collected round him, he delivered a discourse on the horse in
general and the specimen before him in particular, pronouncing the
latter excellent in every respect.
When the rest of the party had taken their seats in the carriage he
examined the saddle-girth; then, putting his foot in the stirrup, he
sprang to the saddle. The animal began to curvet and nearly threw his
rider.
Hector, not altogether at his ease, tried to soothe him:
"Come, come, good horse, gently now!"
Then, when the horse had recovered his equanimity and the rider his
nerve, the latter asked:
"Are you ready?"
The occupants of the carriage replied with one voice:
"Yes."
"Forward!" he commanded.
And the cavalcade set out.
All looks were centered on him. He trotted in the English style, rising
unnecessarily high in the saddle; looking at times as if he were
mounting into space. Sometimes he seemed on the point of falling
forward on the horse's mane; his eyes were fixed, his face drawn, his
cheeks pale.
His wife, holding one of the children on her knees, and the servant,
who was carrying the other, continually cried out:
"Look at papa! look at papa!"
And the two boys, intoxicated by the motion of the carriage, by their
delight and by the keen air, uttered shrill cries. The horse, frightened by
the noise they made, started off at a gallop, and while Hector was trying
to control his steed his hat fell off, and the driver had to get down and
pick it up. When the equestrian had recovered it he called to his wife
from a distance:
"Don't let the children shout like that! They'll make the horse bolt!"
They lunched on the grass in the Vesinet woods, having brought
provisions with them in the carriage.

Although the driver was looking after the three horses, Hector rose
every minute to see if his own lacked anything; he patted him on the
neck and fed him with bread, cakes and sugar.
"He's an unequal trotter," he declared. "He certainly shook me up a
little at first, but, as you saw, I soon got used to it. He knows his master
now and won't give any more trouble."
As had been decided, they returned by the Champs-Elysees.
That spacious thoroughfare literally swarmed with vehicles of every
kind, and on the sidewalks the pedestrians were so numerous that they
looked like two indeterminate black ribbons unfurling their length from
the Arc de Triomphe to the Place de la Concorde. A flood of sunlight
played on this gay scene, making the varnish of the carriages, the steel
of the harness and the handles of the carriage doors shine with dazzling
brilliancy.
An intoxication of life and motion seemed to have invaded this
assemblage of human beings, carriages and horses. In the distance the
outlines of the Obelisk could be discerned in a cloud of golden vapor.
As soon as Hector's horse had passed the Arc de Triomphe he became
suddenly imbued with fresh energy, and, realizing that his stable was
not far off, began to trot rapidly through the maze of wheels, despite all
his rider's efforts to restrain him.
The carriage was now far behind. When the horse arrived opposite the
Palais de l'Industrie he saw a clear field before him, and, turning to the
right, set off at a gallop.
An old woman wearing an apron was crossing the road in leisurely
fashion. She happened to be just in Hector's way as he arrived on the
scene riding at full speed. Powerless to control his mount, he shouted at
the top of his voice:
"Hi! Look out there! Hi!"
She must have been deaf, for she continued peacefully on her way until
the awful moment when, struck by the horse's chest as by a locomotive
under full steam, she rolled ten paces off, turning three somersaults on
the way.
Voices yelled:
"Stop him!"
Hector, frantic with terror, clung to the horse's mane and shouted:
"Help! help!"

A terrible jolt hurled him, as if shot from a gun, over his horse's ears
and cast him into the arms of a policeman who was running up to stop
him.
In the space of a second a furious, gesticulating, vociferating group had
gathered round him. An old gentleman with a white mustache, wearing
a large round decoration, seemed particularly exasperated. He repeated:
"Confound it! When a man is as awkward as all that he should remain
at home and not come killing people in the streets, if he doesn't know
how to handle a horse."
Four men arrived on