"Come, old woman, let's get on!" cried one of the men, who had raised
himself to a kneeling position amongst his turnips; "it's only some
drunken sot."

Madame Francois, however, had bent forward and on her right hand had
caught sight of a black mass, lying almost under the horse's hoofs, and
blocking the road.

"You wouldn't have us drive over a man, would you?" said she, jumping to
the ground.

It was indeed a man lying at full length upon the road, with his arms
stretched out and his face in the dust. He seemed to be remarkably tall,
but as withered as a dry branch, and the wonder was that Balthazar
had not broken him in half with a blow from his hoof. Madame Francois
thought that he was dead; but on stooping and taking hold of one of his
hands, she found that it was quite warm.

"Poor fellow!" she murmured softly.

The waggoners, however, were getting impatient.

"Hurry up, there!" said the man kneeling amongst the turnips, in a
hoarse voice. "He's drunk till he can hold no more, the hog! Shove him
into the gutter."

Meantime, the man on the road had opened his eyes. He looked at Madame
Francois with a startled air, but did not move. She herself now thought
that he must indeed be drunk.