Paul talked, talked, talked.

His mother was not there to check or moderate his transports, and his joy was overflowing.
"Now, look here, Monsieur l'Abbe, you are wrong to take things in this tragic manner.

Stay, look at my little mare, how well she trots! what good action she has! You have not seen her before?
What do you think I paid for her?
Four hundred francs.

I discovered her a fortnight ago, between the shafts of a market gardener's cart.

She is a treasure.