"But how will you go, friend?" asked Philibert, looking down at
Master Pothier's gamaches; "you don't look like a fast walker."
"Oh, your Honor," interrupted Dame Bedard, impatiently, for Zoe had
been twitching her hard to let her go. "Master Pothier can ride the
old sorrel nag that stands in the stable eating his head off for
want of hire. Of course your Honor will pay livery?"
"Why, certainly, Madame, and glad to do so! So Master Pothier make
haste, get the sorrel nag, and let us be off."
"I will be back in the snap of a pen, or in the time Dame Bedard can
draw that cup of Cognac, your Honor."
"Master Pothier is quite a personage, I see," remarked Philibert, as
the old notary shuffled off to saddle the nag.
"Oh, quite, your Honor. He is the sharpest notary, they say, that
travels the road. When he gets people into law they never can get
out. He is so clever, everybody says! Why, he assures me that even
the Intendant consults him sometimes as they sit eating and drinking
half the night together in the buttery at the Chateau!"
"Really! I must be careful what I say," replied Philibert,
laughing, "or I shall get into hot water! But here he comes.
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