"Now! Now! Here he is!
Look! Bravo, Pompier! One hundred on Pompier!"
But, alas! poor Pompier de Nanterre fell exhausted before half the
distance was accomplished; and that evening Wilkie described his
defeat, with a profusion of technical terms that inspired the
uninitiated with the deepest awe. "What a disaster, my friends,"
he exclaimed. "Pompier de Nanterre, an incomparable
steeplechaser, to break down in such a fashion! And beaten by
whom? My Mustapha, an outsider, without any record whatever! The
ring was intensely excited--and I was simply crazed."
However, his defeat did not affect him very deeply. It was
forgotten at thought of the inheritance which his friend Coralth
had spoken to him about. And to-morrow M. de Coralth would tell
him the secret. He had only twenty hours longer to wait!" To-
morrow! to-morrow!" he said to himself again and again, with a
thrill of mingled joy and impatience. And what bright visions of
future glory haunted him! He saw himself the possessor of a
magnificent stud, of sufficient wealth to gratify every fancy; he
would splash mud upon all the passers-by, and especially upon his
former acquaintances, as he dashed past them in his superb
equipage; the best tailor should invent astonishing garments for
him; he would make himself conspicuous at all the first
performances in a stage-box, with the most notorious women in
Paris; his fetes would be described in the papers; he would be the
continual subject of comment; he would be credited with splendid,
perfect "form.
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