He was conscious of it, despised himself for it; but he could not help it.

Yet, if he were overtaken, he would fight; yes, fight to the end, whatever it might be.
Nicolas Lavilette had begun to unwind the coil of fortune and ambition which his mother had long been engaged in winding.
A mile or two behind was another horse and another rider.

The animal was clean of limb, straight and shapely of body, with a leg like a lady's, and heart and wind to travel till she dropped.

This mare the little black notary, Shangois, had cheerfully stolen from beside the tent of the English general.

The bridle-rein hung upon the wrist of the notary's palsied left hand, and in his right hand he carried the long sabre of an artillery officer, which he had picked up on the battlefield.