Courfeyrac has only sat on a horse one or two times. He is no country boy, and neither is he of the noble stock that his father liked to pretend that they were, and so the opportunities were few. That has not stopped him from pretending greater knowledge and skill every opportunity he could since Marius suggested the outing, speaking as though the handful of times he had found himself on the back of a horse had made him expert. He certainly looks the plantoic ideal of a rider as he strolls up to join his friends, his new boots shiny and his jacket smart. If something rougher and more broken in would be appropriate, he missed the memo.

“Pontmercy, my friend! What an excellent day for a ride."