You slap the horse hard on the butt and laugh that you now have the upper hand.

The Frenchie with his look of wretchedness, melancholy and pleasure, struggles vainly at the sham noose as it tightens fatality around his neck…

Errr…  well it would do if was actually a real rope and not just a sham noose you fool.

You realise how tricky these French sorts are and how quickly mime can become real in the mind of a deranged hung-over fool who has just woken up in a ditch.

Of course you realise this just as the Frenchie trots away.

Do you:-

Damn you stupid self, put this all down to experience and go and get the purse.

Pull out your mime musket and shoot the Frenchie in the back