The poor old horse slipped at every step, though
Scapin was carefully leading him, and staggered along like a drunken
man, striking first against one shaft and then against the other,
growing perceptibly weaker at every turn of the wheels behind him.
Now and again he shook his head slowly up and down, and cast appealing
glances at those around him, as his trembling legs seemed about to give
way under him. His hour had come--the poor, old horse! and he was dying
in harness like a brave beast, as he was. At last he could no more,
and falling heavily to the ground gave one feeble kick as he stretched
himself out on his side, and yielded up the ghost. Frightened by the
sudden shock, the women shrieked loudly, and the men, running to their
assistance, helped them to clamber out of the chariot. Mme. Leonarde and
Serafina were none the worse for the fright, but Isabelle had fainted
quite away, and de Sigognac, lifting her light weight easily, carried
her in his arms to the bank at the side of the road, followed by the
duenna, while Scapin bent down over the prostrate horse and carefully
examined his ears.
"He is stone dead," said he in despairing tones; "his ears are cold, and
there is no pulsation in the auricular artery."
"Then I suppose we shall have to harness ourselves to the chariot in his
place," broke in Leander dolefully, almost weeping.
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