THE YOUNG LIEUTENANT of the bodyguard of the dauphin—for it was he—leaped from his horse at the aspect of this strange scene, which began to collect about the post-house all the women and children of the village. On seeing Philip, the post-master was ready to throw himself on his knees before his protector, whom Providence had sent him so opportunely.
“Sir, sir!” cried he; “do you know that this person is about to take by force some of the horses of her royal highness the dauphiness?”
Philip drew back, as if he heard what was absolutely incredible. “And who has made this attempt?” he inquired.
“I, sir!—mordieu!—I, myself!” said Jean.
“It cannot be, sir; otherwise you are either mad or not a gentleman!”
“Excuse me, sir. I am in my perfect senses, and have the entree at court.”
“How!—You are in your perfect senses, and are received at court, and yet you dare to take the horses of the dauphiness?”
“In the first place, there are sixty horses—her royal highness can only employ eight—and it would be strange, indeed, if I should unluckily pitch upon the very ones she wanted.”
“True, sir—there are sixty horses,” replied the young man, “and her royal highness will only employ eight; but that does not hinder every horse, from the first to the sixtieth, being for her service; and between these horses no distinction can be made.”
“You are mistaken, sir—it is made!” said the viscount, contemptuously, “since I have taken these three for myself. Shall I go on foot, when rascally lackeys are drawn by four horses? Mordieu! let them be satisfied, as I am, with three, and there will be enough for us all.”
“If the lackeys have four horses, sir, it is by the king's order, and now have the goodness to order your footman to take those horses back to the stable.” These words Philip pronounced firmly, but with so much politeness that none but a ruffian would have answered otherwise than respectfully.
“You may be right, my dear lieutenant,” answered Jean, “to speak in this manner, if it be a part of your duty to attend to the cattle; but I did not know that the gentlemen of the dauphin's bodyguard had been raised to the rank of grooms. Therefore, take my advice, shut your eyes—tell your people to do the same—and—a good day to you I”
“Sir, whether I have been raised or lowered to the rank of groom is not the question—what I do is my duty, and I am commanded by the dauphiness herself to attend to the relays.”
“Oh, that alters the case; but allow me to tell you that you are filling a sorry office, M. Lieutenant, and if this is the way the young lady begins to treat the army—”
“Of whom do you speak, sir?” interrupted Philip.
“Why, parbleu! of the Austrian.”
The chevalier turned as pale as death.
“Do you dare,” he exclaimed, “to speak—”
“I not only dare to speak,” interrupted Jean, “but I dare to act!—Come, Patrice —hasten, we are pressed for time.”
Philip seized the first horse by the bridle. “Sir,” said he, in a perfectly calm voice, “do me the favor to give your name.”
“Do you wish particularly to know it?”
“Well, then, I am the Viscount Jean Dubarry.”
“What! —you are the brother of her—”
“Who will send you to rot in the Bastille, if you say one word more; “and Jean jumped into the carriage.
Philip approached the door. “Viscount Jean Dubarry,” said he, “you will do me the honor to come out.”
“Yes, ma foi! I have a great deal of time for that!” said the viscount, endeavoring to shut the door.
“If you hesitate one instant, sir,” replied Philip, preventing him with his left hand from closing the carriage door, “I give you my word of honor I will run you through the body!” and, as he spoke, he drew his sword.
“Oh!” cried Chon, “we shall be murdered. Give up the horses, Jean—give them up!”
“What! you threaten me,” shouted Jean, grinding his teeth and snatching up his sword, which he had laid on the seat of the carriage before him.
“And the threat shall be followed up—do you hear?—in a moment,” and the young man's sword glanced before Jean's eyes.
“We shall never get away,” whispered Chon, “if you do not manage this officer by gentle means.”
“Neither gentleness nor violence shall stop me in the discharge of my duty,” said Philip, who had overheard the advice, bowing; “I recommend you, madame, to advise Monsieur le Viscount to submit in time, or in the name of the king, whom I represent, I shall be forced to kill him if he resist, or to arrest him if he do not.”
“And I tell you I shall have the horses in spite of you!” shouted Jean, leaping out of the carriage and drawing his sword.
“That remains to be proved, sir,” said Philip, putting himself on his guard; “are you ready?”
“Lieutenant,” said the brigadier commanding under Philip, “there are six of our men near—shall I—?”
“Do not stir!—Do not stir!—this is a personal quarrel. Now, sir, I am at your service.”
Mademoiselle Chon shrieked, and Gilbert wished the carriage had been as deep as a well, to hide him.
Jean began the attack; he was a good swordsman, but anger prevented him from turning his skill to advantage. Philip, on the contrary, was as cool as if he had been playing with a foil in the fencing-school. The viscount advanced, retired, leaped to the right, to the left, shouting in making his passes like the fencing-master of a regiment; while the chevalier, with closed teeth and steady eye, immovable as a statue, watched all his adversary's movements, and divined his intentions. Every one in the yard was silent, attentively looking on; even Chon ceased to scream. For some minutes the combat continued without Jean's feints, shouts, and movements producing any effect, but also without his having permitted Philip, who was studying his opponent's play, to touch him once. All at once, however, the viscount sprung back, uttering a cry of pain, and at the same moment his ruffles were stained with blood, which ran down his fingers in large drops—he was wounded in the arm.
“You are wounded, sir,” said Philip.
“Sacrebleu, I feel it well enough,” said he, turning pale and letting his sword fall.
The chevalier took it up and restored it to him; “Take it, sir,” said he, “and never again be guilty of a similar folly.”
“Plague take it!—if I have my follies, I pay for them,” growled the viscount. “Come and dress this scrape, dear Chon,” added he to his sister, who sprung from the carriage and hastened to his assistance.
“You will do me the justice, madame,” said Philip, “to acknowledge that all this has not been caused by my fault. I deeply regret having been driven to such extremities before a lady,” and bowing, he retired. “Let those horses be unharnessed and taken back to the stable,” said he to the post-master.
“Oh!” cried the host, “this is just in the nick of time; three horses coming in that have been out! Courtin, Courtin! —quick! put them to the gentleman's carriage.”
“But, master—” said the postilion.
“Come, come! no reply; the gentleman is in a hurry. Don't be uneasy, sir, you shall have the horses.”
“All very fine; but your horses should have been here half an hour ago,” growled Dubarry, stamping with his foot, as he looked at his arm, pierced through and through, which Chon was binding up with her handkerchief.
Meantime Philip had mounted his horse again, and was giving his orders as if nothing had occurred.
“Now, brother, now! let us go” said Chon, leading him toward the carriage.
“And my Arabian?” said he. “Ah, ma foi! let him go to the devil, for I am in for a day of ill-luck,” and he got into the carriage.
“Oh,” said he, perceiving Gilbert. “I cannot stretch my legs with this fellow.”
“Let me out, pray,” said Gilbert, “and I will walk.”
“In the devil's name go, then,” replied Jean.
“No, no,” said Chon, “I must keep my little philosopher—sit opposite me, and you will not annoy him;” and she held Gilbert by the arm; then, bending forward, she whispered to her brother, “Hi; knows the man who wounded you.”
A gleam of joy flashed from the viscount's eyes; “Oh, very well!—let him stay—what is the fellow called?”
“The Chevalier Philip de Taverney.”
Just then the young officer passed the carriage.
“Oh, you are there, my little gendarme,” shouted the viscount; “you look wonderfully fierce just now, but my turn will come some day.”
“I shall be at your service, sir, whenever you please,” answered Philip, calmly.
“Yes, yes, we shall see that, Monsieur Philip de Taverney,” said the viscount, leaning forward to see what effect the mention of his name would have on the young man, when he must be so far from expecting to hear it.
Philip looked up with surprise, and indeed with a slight feeling of uneasiness, but immediately recovering his self-possession, and taking off his hat, with the utmost grace, “A pleasant journey, Viscount Jean Dubarry,” said he.
The carriage rolled on rapidly. “Thousand devils!” said the viscount, making a horrible grimace; “do you know, my little Chon, I am suffering dreadful pain?”
“The first place where we change I shall send for a doctor for you, while this poor fellow breakfasts, “replied Chon.
“Ah! true, true, we have not breakfasted, but the pain I suffer—and I am in agony with thirst—takes away all appetite.”
“Will you drink a glass of wine from my flask?”
“Sir,” said Gilbert, “will you allow me to remark that wine is very bad for you in your present condition.”
“Really you are quite a physician, my little philosopher!”
“No, sir—but I hope to be so one day. I have read, however, in a treatise written for people in the army, that the first things forbidden the wounded are spirits, wine and coffee.”
“Ah, you read that! —well, I shall not drink the wine.”
“But if Monsieur le Viscount would permit me to take his handkerchief and dip it in that brook, and then wrap it 'round his arm, I am sure it would ease his pain.”
“Do, do!” said Chon; “stop, postilion!”
Gilbert got out to follow up his proposition. “This boy will be a horrid plague to us,” said the viscount, “I have a great mind to tell the postilion to drive on and leave him there, handkerchief and all.”
“You would be wrong—that boy can be very useful to us.”
“He has already given me some important information about the dauphiness—and did he not just now tell you the name of your adversary?”
Gilbert returned, and the application of the wet bandage to the viscount's arm, as he had foretold, relieved him greatly.
“Faith, he was right—I feel much better,” said he, “let us have a little chat.” Gilbert opened his ears to their utmost extent. The conversation which ensued, and which was conducted in the lively and brilliant patois of Provence, would have sadly puzzled a Parisian ear, and Gilbert, master of himself as he was, could not avoid a slight movement of impatience, which Mademoiselle Chon having perceived, quieted with a gentle smile. This smile reminded the poor boy of the kindness with which he was treated. Circumstances had brought him in contact with a nobleman honored with the royal favor. “Ah!” thought he, “if Andree saw me in this magnificent carriage!”—and his heart swelled with pride. New ideas and hopes took possession of him, and Nicole no longer cost him a thought.
In the meantime, the brother and sister resumed their conversation, still however in the Provencal dialect.
Suddenly the viscount leaned forward, “See, there he is!” cried he.
“The Arabian which I wished to buy.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Chon, “what a splendid woman the rider is!”
“Call her, Chon, she will not perhaps be so much afraid of you—I would give a thousand crowns for the horse.”
“And how much for the woman?” said Chon, laughing.
“I would give all I have for her—but call her.”
“Madame!” cried Chon, “madame!”
But the stranger appeared not to hear, or not to understand. Wrapped in a long white mantle, and her face shaded by a large beaver hat with drooping feathers, she flew past them like an arrow, crying; “ Avanti, Djerid, avanti!”
“She is an Italian,” said the viscount. “Mordieu, what a splendid woman!—if it were not for the pain of my arm, I would jump out and run after her.”
“Why, the little fellow is a directory for the whole province; he knows every one.”
“Her name is Lorenza, and she is the sorcerer's wife.”
The brother and sister looked at each other with an expression which said, “We did well to keep him!”
