It was a beautiful horse.

There never was such a horse in the world.

If I had a picture of him I would hang it up on the wall over my bed." "Would you ?" he cried joyfully.

"Then I will give you one." He trotted over to the bundle of papers that reposed in his hat on the floor, searched through them, and to my dismay handed me a faded, unmounted, and rather torn and crumpled photograph of the wonderful horse.
"There!" said he.
"I could not rob you of it," I protested.
"It will be my joy to know that you have it--that it is hanging over your bed.

See--have you a pin?
I myself will fix it for you." While he was searching my table for pins the chasseur of the hotel came with a message from Madame Brandt.