But supposing my horse was let loose out of pure malice, in order that he might stray into the menagerie--you will then acknowledge that it was not my fault.

That is, you will acknowledge it if you think fit," hastily added the soldier "I have no right to dictate to you in anything." "And why the devil should any one do you this ill-turn ?" "I do not know, Mr.Burgomaster--but--" "You do not know--well, nor I either," said the burgomaster impatiently.
"Zounds! what a many words about the carcass of an old horse!" The countenance of the soldier, losing on a sudden its expression of forced suavity, became once more severe; he answered in a grave voice, full of emotion: "My horse is dead--he is no more than a carcass--that is true; but an hour ago, though very old, he was full of life and intelligence.

He neighed joyously at my voice--and, every evening, he licked the hands of the two poor children, whom he had carried all the day--as formerly he had carried their mother.

Now he will never carry any one again; they will throw him to the dogs, and all will be finished.

You need not have reminded me harshly of it, Mr.
Burgomaster--for I loved my horse!" By these words, pronounced with noble and touching simplicity, the burgomaster was moved in spite of himself, and regretted his hasty speech.