ppeared to be acting under some invisible impulse, and the General had
such a comical look on his face, he looked so disconcerted, rolled his
eyes, and seemed to be the prey to such terrible exasperation, that he
might have been taken for some character in a pantomime, while his staff
followed him, without being able to comprehend this fresh fancy of his.

The soldiers presented arms, the music did not stop, though the
instrumentalists were much astonished at this interminable ride.

The General at last became out of breath, and could scarcely keep in the
saddle, and the women, in the crowded ranks of the spectators, gave
prolonged, nervous laughs, which made the old _roue's_ ears tingle with
excitement.

The horse did not stop until the music ceased, and then it knelt down
with bent head, and put its nostrils into the dust.

It nearly gave General de Croisailles an attack of the jaundice,
especially when he found out that it was his aide-de-camp's _tit for
tat_, and that the horse came from a circus which was giving performances
in the town. And what irritated him all the more was, that he could not
even set it down against Montboron and have him sent to some terrible
out-of-the-way hole, for the Captain sent in his resignation, wisely
considering that sooner or later he should have to pay the costs of
that little trick, and that the chances were that he should not get any
further promotion, but remain stationary, like a cab which some bilker
has left standing for hours at one end of an arcade, while he has made
his escape at the other.

RUST

During nearly his whole life, he had had an insatiable love for sport. He
went out every day, from morning till night, with the greatest ardor, in
summer and winter, spring and autumn, on the marshes, when it was close
time on the plains and in the woods. He shot, he hunted, he coursed, he
ferreted; he spoke of nothing but shooting and hunting, he dreamt of it,
and continually repeated:

"How miserable any man must be who does not care for sport!"

And now that he was past fifty, he was well, robust, stout and vigorous,
though rather bald, and he kept his moustache cut quite short, so that it
might not cover his lips, and interfere with his blowing the horn.

He was never called by anything but his first Christian name, Monsieur
Hector, but his full name was Baron Hector Gontran de Coutelier, and he
lived in a small manor house which he had inherited, in the midd