"
The storm grew worse and worse; the snow, driven with great force by
the wind, penetrated into the chariot where Isabelle, Serafina, and Mme.
Leonarde had taken refuge among the luggage, in spite of all that could
be done to keep it out, and had soon covered their wraps with a coating
of white. The poor horse was scarcely able to make any headway at all
against the wind and snow; his feet slipped at every step, and he panted
painfully. Herode went to his head, and took hold of the bridle with his
strong hand to lead him and try to help him along, while the pedant,
de Sigognac, and Scapin put their shoulders to the wheels at every
inequality in the road and whenever he paused or stumbled badly, and
Leander cracked the whip loudly to encourage the poor beast; it would
have been downright cruelty to strike him. As to Matamore, he had
lingered behind, and they were expecting every moment to see his tall,
spare figure emerge from the gloom with rapid strides and rejoin them.
Finally the storm became so violent that it was impossible to face it
any longer; and though it was so important that they should reach the
next village before the daylight was all gone, they were forced to halt,
and turn the chariot, with its back to the wind.
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