delight of looking on Victorine's face, he began to think, as he toiled
along on foot, mile after mile, the saddle-bags on his shoulders, and
the hot sun beating down on his head; but reach the Golden Pear that day
he would, and he did,--almost as footsore as the stallion. Neither
master nor beast was wonted to rough ways.

"My horse is sadly lame," Willan said to Benoit as he came up. "He cast
two shoes yesterday, and I was forced to ride on, spite of it, for there
was no blacksmith on the road I came. I fear me thou canst not shoe him
to-night, his feet have grown so sore!"

"No, nor to-morrow nor the day after," cried Benoit, taking up the
inflamed feet and looking at them closely. "It was a sin, sir, to ride
such a creature unshod; he is a noble steed."

"Nay, I have not ridden a step to-day," answered Willan, "and I am
wellnigh as sore as he. We have come all the way from the north
boundary,--a matter of some six leagues, I think,--from the inn of Jean
Gauvois."

"But he is a farrier himself!" cried Benoit. "How let he the beast go
out like this?"

"It was I forbade him to touch the horse," replied the wily Willan. "He
did lame a good mare for me once, driving a nail into the quick. I
thought the horse would be better to walk this far and get thy more
skilful handling. There is not a man in this country, they tell me, can
shoe a horse so well as thou. Dost thou not know some secret of
healing," he continued, "by which thou canst harden the feet, so that
they will be fit to shoe to-morrow?"