"
But he was losing ground, plainly losing ground. He was only halfway
down the Rue Tronchet, and quite tired out; he felt that his legs could
not carry him a hundred steps farther, and the brougham had almost
reached the Madeleine.
At last an open cab, going in the same direction as himself, passed by.
He made a sign, more despairing than any drowning man ever made. The
sign was seen. He made a supreme effort, and with a bound jumped into
the vehicle without touching the step.
"There," he gasped, "that blue brougham, twenty francs!"
"All right!" replied the coachman, nodding.
And he covered his ill-conditioned horse with vigorous blows, muttering,
"A jealous husband following his wife; that's evident. Gee up!"
As for old Tabaret, he was a long time recovering himself, his strength
was almost exhausted.
For more than a minute, he could not catch his breath. They were soon
on the Boulevards. He stood up in the cab leaning against the driver's
seat.
"I don't see the brougham anywhere," he said.
"Oh, I see it all right, sir. But it is drawn by a splendid horse!"
"Yours ought to be a better one. I said twenty francs; I'll make it
forty.
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