I laughed, adding, 'If you think I am going to tire our horses by
racing them, with such work as we have before us, you are
mistaken, Fresnoy. I am not a boy, you know.'

'There need be no question of racing,' he answered more quietly.
'You have only to get on that rat-tailed bay of Matthew's to feel
its paces and say I am right.'

I looked at the bay, a bald-faced, fiddle-headed horse, and saw
that, with no signs of breeding, it was still a big-boned animal
with good shoulders and powerful hips. I thought it possible
Fresnoy might be right, and if so, and the bay's manners were
tolerable, it might do for mademoiselle better than the horse I
had chosen. At any rate, if we had a fast horse among us, it was
well to know the fact, so bidding Matthew change with me, and be
careful of the Cid, I mounted the bay, and soon discovered that
its paces were easy and promised speed, while its manners seemed
as good as even a timid rider could desire.

Our road at the time lay across a flat desolate heath, dotted
here and there with, thorn-bushes; the track being broken and
stony, extended more than a score of yards in width, through
travellers straying to this side and that to escape the worst
places. Fresnoy and I, in making the change, had fallen slightly
behind the other three, and were riding abreast of Matthew on the
Cid.

'Well,' he said, 'was I not right?'