'Or any country, I say--I don't care where it is! And I have reason to know! Why, man, that horse is--But there, that is a good horse, if ever you saw one!' And with that he ended--abruptly and lamely; lowered the lanthorn with a sudden gesture, and turned to the door.

He was on the instant in such hurry to leave that he almost shouldered me out.
But I understood.

I knew that he had neatly betrayed all--that he had been on the point of blurting out that that was M.de Cocheforet's horse! M.Cocheforet's COMPRENEZ BIEN! And while I turned away my face in the darkness that he might not see me smile, I was not surprised to find the man in a moment changed, and become, in the closing of the door, as sober and suspicious as before, ashamed of himself and enraged with me, and in a mood to cut my throat for a trifle.
It was not my cue to quarrel, however.

I made therefore, as if I had seen nothing, and when we were back in the inn praised the horse grudgingly, and like a man but half convinced.

The ugly looks and ugly weapons I saw round me were fine incentives to caution; and no Italian, I flatter myself, could have played his part more nicely than I did.