SCARAMOUCHE - by Madame Guizot - from "POPULAR TALES " - translated by MRS. L. BURKE. - PART I

 

It was a village fair, and Punch with his usual retinue - Judy, the Beadle, and the Constable - had established himself on one side of the green; while on the other were to be seen, Martin, the learned ass, and Peerless Jacquot, the wonderful parrot. Matthieu la Bouteille (such was the nickname bestowed upon the owner of the ass, a name justified by the redness of his nose) held Martin by the bridle, while Peerless Jacquot rested on his shoulder, attached by a chain to his belt. His wife, surnamed La Mauricaude, had undertaken to assemble the company, and to display Martin's talents. Thomas, the son of La Mauricaude, a child of eleven years of age, covered with a few rags, which had once been a pair of trowsers and a shirt, collected, in the remnant of a hat, the voluntary contributions of the spectators; while in the background, sad and silent, stood Gervais, a lad of between fourteen and fifteen years of age, Matthew's son by a former marriage.

"Come, ladies and gentlemen," exclaimed La Mauricaude, in her hoarse voice, "come and see Martin; he will tell you, ladies and gentlemen, what you know and what you don't know. Come, ladies and gentlemen, and hear Peerless Jacquot; he will reply to what you say to him, and to what you do not say to him." And this joke, constantly repeated by La Mauricaude in precisely the same tone, always attracted an audience of pretty nearly the same character.

"Now then, Martin," continued La Mauricaude, as soon as the circle was formed, "tell this honourable company what o'clock it is." Martin, whether he did not understand, or did not choose to reply, still remained motionless. La Mauricaude renewed the question: Martin shook his ears. "Do you say, Martin, that you cannot see the clock at this distance?" continued La Mauricaude. "Has any one a watch?" Immediately an enormous watch was produced from the pocket of a farmer, and placed under the eyes of Martin, who appeared to consider it attentively. The whole assembly, like Martin himself, stretched forward with increased attention. It was just noon by the watch; after a few moments' reflection, Martin raised his head and uttered three vigorous hihons, to which the crowd responded by a burst of laughter, which did not in the least appear to disturb Martin. "Oh, oh! Martin," cried La Mauricaude, "I see you are thinking of three o'clock, the time for having your oats; but you must wait, so what say you to a game of cards, in order to pass the time?" And a pack of cards, almost effaced by dirt, was immediately extracted from a linen bag which hung at La Mauricaude's right side, and spread out in the midst of the circle, which drew in closer, in order to enjoy a nearer view of the spectacle about to be afforded by the talents of Martin. "Now then, Martin; now then, my boy," continued his instructress, "draw: draw first of all the knave of hearts, and present it to this honourable company as a sign of your attachment and respect;" and already the two or three wits of the crowd had nodded their heads with an air of approbation at this ingenious compliment, when Martin, after repeated orders, put forth his right foot, and placed it upon the seven of spades.

At this moment the voice of a parrot was heard in the midst of the crowd, distinctly pronouncing the words, "That won't do, my good fellow." It was Peerless Jacquot, who, wearied at not having been called upon to join in the conversation, repeated one of his favourite phrases. The appropriateness of his speech restored the good humour of the company, who were beginning to be disgusted with Martin's stupidity; and their attention would probably have been bestowed upon Jacquot, had not Punch's trumpet been at that moment heard, announcing that the actors were ready and the performances about to commence. At this signal Martin's audience began to disperse; the ranks thinned, and the remnant of the hat, which was seen advancing in the hands of Thomas, effectually drove away those who still lingered from curiosity or indifference. All took the same direction; and Matthew, Thomas, La Mauricaude, Martin, and Jacquot followed, with more or less of ill-humour, the crowd which had deserted them. Gervais alone, separating from them, went into a neighbouring street to offer his services, during the fair time, to a farrier engaged in shoeing the horses of the visitors.

A far different spectacle from any with which Martin could amuse them, awaited the curious on the other side of the green. An enormous mastiff had just been unharnessed from a little cart, upon which he had brought the theatre and company of the Marionettes; and now, lying down in front of the tent and at the feet of his master, he seemed to take under his protection those things which had thus far travelled under his conveyance. Medor's appearance was that of a useful and well-treated servant; his looks towards his master those of a confiding friend. Va-bon-train (this was the name of the owner of the Marionettes) might easily be recognized for an old soldier. The regularity of his movements added greatly to the effect of their vivacity; everything happened in its proper turn, and at its proper time. His utterance was precise without being abrupt, and the tone of military firmness which he associated with the tricks of his trade, gave to them a certain degree of dignity. Words taken from the languages of the different countries through which he had travelled were mingled, with wonderful gravity and readiness, in the dialogue of the personages whom he put in action; and scenes in which he had been personally concerned, either as actor or witness, fired his imagination, and furnished incidents which enabled him to vary his representations to an unlimited extent. He was assisted by his son Michael, a fine lad about the age of Gervais, whom he very much resembled, although the countenance of the one was as serious as that of the other was cheerful and animated.

There was nothing strange in this resemblance, for Matthew and Va-bon-train were brothers, and Michael and Gervais therefore first cousins. Va-bon-train, whose baptismal name was Vincent, owed his nickname less to the regularity of his movements than to the vivacity of his disposition and the promptitude of his determinations. Having at the age of twenty-five lost his wife, to whom he was much attached, and who had died in giving birth to Michael, he could not endure even a temporary grief, and therefore determined, in order to divert his mind, to enter the army, which he did in the quality of substitute, leaving the price of his engagement for the support of his son, whom he confided to the care of Matthew's wife, who had just given birth to Gervais. She nursed both the children, and brought them up with an equal tenderness and in good habits, for she was a worthy woman. They went to the same school, where they learned to read and write, and were instructed in their religion; they began working together in Matthew's shop, at his trade of a blacksmith; and, in fine, they were united by a friendship which was no less ardent on the part of the lively Michael than on that of the graver Gervais. At the age of thirteen, Gervais had the misfortune of losing his mother, and almost at the same time the additional one of being separated from Michael. Vincent Va-bon-train, who had obtained his discharge, had come for his son, whose assistance he required in carrying out his enterprise of the Marionettes, in which he had just engaged. Soon afterwards Matthew's affairs began to fall into confusion. While his wife lived she had kept a check on his love of drink, but no sooner was she dead than he gave himself up to it without restraint. At the tavern he became acquainted with La Mauricaude, a low, bad-principled woman, who had followed all sorts of trades. He was foolish enough to marry her, and they soon squandered the little that remained to him, already much diminished by his disorderly conduct. Then she persuaded him to give up the shop, and travel through the country with his ass and his parrot, assuring him that he would thereby gain a great deal of money. This wandering kind of life accorded better than regular labour with Matthew's newly-acquired habits; and he was the more ready to trust the assurances of his wife, as Va-bon-train had just reappeared in the country in a prosperous condition, the result of the success of his Marionettes. Matthew then formed the idea of entering into partnership with his brother; but the latter was not at all anxious for the connexion, as Matthew's conduct was not calculated to inspire him with any confidence. His second marriage had displeased him, and he disliked La Mauricaude, though he had seen her but casually; but a soldier is not apt to be deterred by trifles, nor to allow his antipathies to interfere with his actions; and besides, Matthew had rendered him a service in bringing up his son Michael. For this he was grateful, and glad, therefore, to have an opportunity of manifesting his gratitude. The caravan consequently set out, Michael delighted at being once more with his beloved Gervais, and Gervais sad at leaving the respectable and regular course of life which suited him, viz. his trade of blacksmith, in which, notwithstanding his father's negligence in instructing him, he had already attained some proficiency. He was in some degree consoled, however, by the prospect of travelling, and travelling with Michael; and he was glad to leave a place where the misconduct of his father had ended in destroying the good reputation which until then his family had always enjoyed.

Unfortunately, the faults which had destroyed Matthew's reputation followed him wherever he went. Before the end of the first week, the two parties had disagreed. The baseness of La Mauricaude, and the wicked propensities of her son Thomas, who was always better pleased with stealing a thing than with receiving it as a gift, were soon discovered to Va-bon-train, in a manner which led him to determine to break his agreement with them as readily as he had made it; and when he said to his brother, "We must separate," just as when he said, "We will go together," the matter was settled, and all opposition was out of the question. Michael no more thought of opposing his father's resolution than any one else, he only threw himself weeping into the arms of Gervais, who pressed his hand sadly, but with resignation, having at least the comfort of thinking that his uncle would no longer be a witness of the disgraceful conduct of his family. La Mauricaude was furious, and declared that she was not to be shaken off in that easy style; and she determined to follow her brother-in-law, in spite of himself, in order to profit by the crowd he always attracted, and to endeavour at the same time to injure him, either by speaking ill of him in every way she could, or by trying to interrupt his performances, by the shrieks of the parrot, which she had taught to repeat insulting phrases, and to imitate the voice of the Marionettes. For two months she persisted in her resolution, notwithstanding the remonstrances of Matthew, whose remonstrances, indeed, were usually of very little avail. At first, Va-bon-train was annoyed with these things; but he soon reconciled himself to them with his usual promptitude. One day, however, he said to his brother, "Listen, Matthew: the roads are free; but let me not hear that you have allowed any one to think that that toad yonder has the insolence to call herself my sister." So saying, he showed La Mauricaude the whip with which he was accustomed to give Medor a slight touch now and then, in order to keep him attentive, and the handle of which had more than once warned Michael of some failure in discipline. From that time, Gervais no longer saluted his uncle, for fear of offending him; and La Mauricaude, notwithstanding her impudence, did not dare to run the risk of braving him openly. Besides, she would have found it no easy task to entice away his audience. Who could enter into competition with "the great, the wonderful, il vero Scaramuccia, Gentlemen, just come direct from Naples, to present to you, lustrissimi, the homage of his colleagues, the Lazzaroni? Baccia vu, your hand, Monsu de Scaramouche." And Scaramouche bowed his head, and raised his hand to his mouth, with a series of movements capable of making you forget the threads by which they were directed. "Look, gentlemen, look at Scaramouche, look at him full in the face; it is indeed Scaramouche; he has not a sou, not a pezzetta, Gentlemen, but how happy he is! See him with his mouth extended from ear to ear; his foot raised, ready to run or jump: but one turn of the hand, one single turn of the wheel of fortune, and behold the metamorphosis! How anxious and grieved he looks! He is now the Signor Scaramuccia, he has become rich, he is counting his money in his hand; he counts, and now he counts more still, and ever with increased vexation. Oh! what has happened to him now? His countenance is changed. Oh! what a piteous face! He weeps; he tears his cap. Povero Scaramuccia! What! presso 'l denaro! Your money has been stolen! Come, come, Scaramouche, fa cuore, take courage. No!... Ammazarti? You want to kill yourself! Very well then, but first of all a little Macaroni. Yes, poor fellow, he will enjoy his Macaroni. See, gentlemen, how piteously he stretches out his hand, how he eats with tears in his eyes; but, pian piano, Scaramuccia, gently, vuoi mangiare tutto? Would you eat the whole? Alas! yes; tutto mangiare, all, per morire! in order that he may die! What, die of indigestion! You are joking, Scaramouche; Macaroni never killed a Lazzarone. Stop, see, he revives again; how he draws up his leg as a mark of pleasure! How he turns his eyes every time he opens his mouth to receive una copiosa pinch di Macaroni! O che gusto! che boccone! How delightful! what a mouthful! Make your minds easy, gentlemen, Scaramouche is alive again." A variety of scenes succeeded, displaying Scaramouche under numerous aspects, each more admirable than the former. The last was that in which the German on duty stopped Scaramouche, with the exclamation Wer da! Scaramouche replied in Italian, vainly endeavouring to make himself understood, and avoiding, by dint of suppleness, the terrible bayonet of the German. Then Punch came up, arguing to as little purpose in French. At length, the Devil carried away the German, and Punch and Scaramouche went to enjoy a bottle together. 

The beauty of the invention drew forth enthusiastic and universal applause; the politicians of the place exchanged mysterious glances; and when Scaramouche presented to the assembled crowd the little saucer which had been placed in his hands, there was no one who did not hasten to offer his sou, his liard, or his centime, for the pleasure of receiving a bow or a nod from Scaramouche.

The crowd slowly dispersed, conversing on the pleasure they had enjoyed. "His Scaramouche breaks my back," said La Mauricaude, in a tone of ill-temper.

"I have often told you, wife," replied her husband, "that by persisting in following them"....

"I have often told you, husband, that you are a fool," was the reply of La Mauricaude. To Matthew it appeared unanswerable; and Thomas, at a look from his mother, went off to visit Medor, who received him politely, and with an air of old acquaintanceship. Va-bon-train perceived him, cracked his great whip, and Thomas immediately ran away as fast as he could.

Gervais was passing along the green, leading back to its owner a horse, which he had helped to shoe. He did not approach, but Medor perceived him at a distance, got up, wagged his tail, and gave a slight whine, partly from the delight of seeing him, and partly from annoyance at not being able to go with him. Gervais gave him a friendly nod. Michael fondly kissed the great head of Medor, and a smile seemed to brighten the countenance of Gervais, at this expression of Michael's affection. It was only in such ways as this that any interchange of thought was permitted to them.

Though possessed of many good qualities, Va-bon-train had one defect, - that of forming precipitate judgments, and of being unwilling to correct them when formed. He came to a decision at once, in order that a matter might the sooner be settled; and when he had decided, he did not wish to be disturbed in his opinion, as it took up too much time to change his mind. The violence done to his feelings in enduring La Mauricaude for a whole week had so much increased his prejudice, that it had extended to the whole family. La Mauricaude was a demon, Matthew a fool, Thomas a rascal, and Gervais a simpleton. These four judgments once pronounced, were not to be over-ruled. Va-bon-train was very fond of his son, whose disposition quite accorded with his own; but he kept him, in military style, under a strict and prompt obedience, aware that the kind of life he made him follow, might, without the greatest care, lead a young man into habits of irregularity and idleness. Fortunately Michael was possessed of good dispositions, had been well brought up, and preferred to all other company the society of his father, who amused him with his numerous anecdotes. Besides, he made it a matter of pride to assist his father as much as possible, and was never so delighted as when his exertions had contributed to the success of the day. Va-bon-train's industry was not confined to his Marionettes; he took advantage of his constant journeys to carry on a small traffic, purchasing in one canton such goods as happened to be cheap there, and selling them in some other, where they were of greater value. He taught Michael how to buy and sell, and make advantageous speculations; and Michael would have been perfectly happy in following this kind of busy, useful life, had it not been for the grief he felt in being unable to share his pleasures with Gervais. But when, after having slept at the best inn which the town or village in which they happened to be, afforded, he saw Gervais in the morning, pale, from having passed a cold or rainy night with no other shelter than an old barn, his heart was pierced; and, notwithstanding his father's commands, he found means to get away, and, with a flask in his hand, hastened to offer a glass of wine to his friend, who refused it with a shake of the head, but with a friendly look. Michael sighed; yet this refusal only served to increase his affection for Gervais; for he well knew that his offer was refused from honourable feelings, not from pride or rancour. Nor was his mind relieved, except when Gervais succeeded in finding work; for then he knew that he would have a good day. When at work, the habitually sad expression of Gervais' countenance, gave place to an air of animation quite pleasant to behold; and even Va-bon-train himself had been unable to resist the temptation of stopping to look at him; and, observing the dexterity and courage with which he managed the horses, he remarked, "By my faith, that fellow works well." Then Michael hastened to reply, "Oh! Gervais is a capital workman;" and he was beginning to add, "and such a good boy too," when Va-bon-train passed on and spoke of other things. Michael then contented himself with remaining a little behind, watching Gervais at work; and when they had exchanged looks, they separated satisfied.

Up to that time Gervais had been unsuccessful in his efforts to find a master who would take him into regular employment. There was no one to be answerable for him; and those with whom he travelled were not of a character to give him a recommendation. However, he made the best he could of his wandering life, by endeavouring to perfect himself in his trade, losing no opportunity of gaining information, and examining with care the treatment employed in the various maladies of animals, and all the other operations of the veterinary art. He also managed to live on his daily earnings, which he economized with the greatest care, and thereby escaped the necessity of partaking of the ill-gotten repasts of La Mauricaude and her son. Sometimes even he shared his own food with his father, whose wretched life was spent in a state of alternate intoxication and want, giving himself up to drink the moment he had money, and the next day going without bread. As it suited La Mauricaude to have some one who could take care of the ass and the parrot, while she and her son attended to their own affairs, they were induced to treat Matthew with some degree of consideration, at least so far as to allow him a share in their profits, of which, however, they were careful to conceal from him the source, for Matthew, even in his degraded condition, preserved an instinct of honesty, which sometimes caused him to say with a significant air, but only when he was intoxicated, "As for me, I am an honest man;" for when sober, he had not so much wit. La Mauricaude had several times endeavoured to get from Gervais the money he earned, but her demands were always firmly resisted, and Gervais afterwards took especial care not to leave his money within reach of her or her son. She had likewise tried to breed dissensions between him and his father; but Matthew respected his son, and La Mauricaude found that it was not to her interest to excite too much the attention of Gervais, for his surveillance would have been very inconvenient to her. She therefore ended by leaving him in tolerable peace, one reason of which may have been that she saw little of him, as he usually left the party as soon as it was day, and did not return until bed-time, when he rarely slept under a roof, unless it was that of some deserted shed.

The performances of the morning were over, and Va-bon-train stood chatting at the door of the inn where he had dined with an old friend, a blacksmith from Lyons. They were then about twenty-five leagues distant from that town, on the road to Tournon, whither the blacksmith was going on some private business. Blanchet, such was this person's name, was clever at his trade, and well to do in the world. The blacksmith of the village in which they were then staying was a former apprentice and workman of his, and he had stopped to visit him as he passed through, and was now on the point of resuming his journey. The forge was at a short distance from the inn; and Gervais, who had just left it, as it was getting dark, came up to the spot where Va-bon-train and Blanchet were conversing. The street was narrow, and, moreover, partially blocked up by a horse that was tied in front of the inn. Va-bon-train chancing to turn his head in the direction by which Gervais was approaching, perceived him coming, and drew back to allow him to pass. Gervais blushed and hesitated; he had not been so close to his uncle for two months. At length he passed on, and, without raising his eyes, bowed to him as he would have done to a stranger, but with an expression of the most profound respect. Michael's eyes were suffused with tears, and for a moment those of Va-bon-train followed his nephew, who, turning round and encountering his uncle's looks, hastily withdrew his own and continued his way.

"Do you know that lad ?" demanded Blanchet.

—"Why ?"

"Because yonder at the forge, a short time since, they were talking about you."

—"And what did he say ?" continued Va-bon-train, with an expression of rising displeasure.

—"He? Nothing:—but one of the men was relating something, I don't know what, about a woman with whom he had been drinking yesterday, some two leagues hence, and who told him that you had abandoned your brother in misfortune. This lad immediately tapped him on the shoulder, saying, 'Comrade, that is no business of yours. It is always best not to interfere in family quarrels.' The man was silenced; and I, learning from what passed, that you were here, for I had not then been out upon the green, I wished to add my word, so I said, that if you did leave your brother in misfortune, it must be because he deserved it, for I well knew the kindness of your heart; whereupon, the young fellow gave me also my answer, though politely enough however, for he said, 'Notwithstanding all that, Master Blanchet, it is much better not to interfere in family affairs;' and the lad was right as to that; but from all this I thought he must know you, more especially when, a short time since, while passing the inn-yard, I saw him enter it, and draw some water for your dog to drink."

Va-bon-train was visibly moved. Michael, whose heart beat violently, looked at his father.

"He was at work, then, at the blacksmith's?" demanded the latter with some degree of emotion.

"Yes; and hard at it too, I can tell you. It is vexatious that you do not know him. He was anxious to be taken as a regular hand there; but when asked who would be answerable for him, he replied, 'No one.' Had it not been for this, I would have engaged him myself, for I am sure he will turn out a capital workman."

"You think so?"

"Oh! you should see how he sets to work; he would learn more about his business with me in six months, than with any one else in three years. But one cannot take him without a recommendation. I heard him say to one of his companions, that this was the third situation he had lost in this manner, nor will he ever get one."

"Oh dear!" exclaimed Michael, who could no longer restrain his feelings.

"Well!" said Va-bon-train. "My friend Blanchet will take him on my recommendation. Take him, friend; I know him, and will be answerable for him."

"Nonsense! what are you talking about?"

"Nothing; only that I shall see you at Lyons, whither you are returning:—but when?"

"I shall be there on Monday week."

"And so shall I; and I will come and dine with you: we will arrange this matter over our glasses. But, at all events, you will take the lad if I am answerable for him; do not make me break my word."

"No, no; the thing is settled; good bye till Monday week;" and they parted.

"But Gervais must be told," said Michael, trembling with joy.

"Go, then, and make haste back; tell him to be at Lyons by Monday week, if possible; but, above all, he must take care that the old toad knows nothing about it." This was his usual epithet for La Mauricaude. Michael departed, and Va-bon-train went to a neighbouring tavern, into which he had seen Matthew and his company enter. The price of a pair of stockings worth fifty sous, which had been stolen from a shop at the fair, and sold a quarter-of-an-hour afterwards for twenty, served to defray the expenses of the party; and Matthew, owing to the cheapness of the wine that season, was just on the verge of intoxication, when Va-bon-train, coming up, said to him, "Matthew, there is but one word between you and me: when I go one way, you must take care and go the other; if you don't, your old toad and her young one will every morning get for their breakfast a sound dressing from this whip."

"As for me, Vincent, I am an honest man," stammered Matthew. La Mauricaude was about to vociferate; and the host took part with his customer.

"Friend," said Va-bon-train, "when you settle your account with that hussey, I will not interfere; but look well to the money she gives you:" and he walked out. As soon as he was gone, La Mauricaude poured forth a torrent of abuse. Those of her neighbours whose hearts began to be warmed and their wits clouded by the wine they had taken, agreed unanimously, that to come and insult in that manner respectable people, who were quietly taking their glass, without interfering with any one, was a thing not to be borne: and Matthew again repeated, "As for me, I am an honest man." The rest, as they looked at La Mauricaude and her son, made some reflections on Va-bon-train's speech, and the host thought it high time to demand payment. This completed the ill-humour of La Mauricaude.

As for Michael, he had hastened to Gervais, and delivered his message. A sudden flush of surprise and joy suffused the countenance of the latter, on learning that his uncle would be answerable for him; and when the voice of Va-bon-train was heard calling his son, the two friends pressed each other's hands, and parted, each cherishing the thought of the happiness which was about to dawn for both of them.

All was quiet at the inn where Va-bon-train had taken up his abode for the night, when, awaking from his first sleep, he thought he heard Medor in the yard, groaning, and very uneasy. He went down stairs, and was surprised to find him tied by a cord to a tree that was near the cart, and so short that he could scarcely move. As he was accustomed to allow Medor his liberty at night, feeling quite sure that he would make use of it only to defend more effectually his master's property, he concluded that some one had thought to render him a service, by tying up the dog for fear of his escaping; for in the darkness he had not perceived that the other end of the cord which attached Medor to the tree, had been passed round his nose, so as to form a kind of muzzle. Eager to liberate the poor animal, he cut the cord, which was fastened round his neck by a slip knot, and which, but for the intervention of his collar, must have strangled him. The cord once cut, the knot gave way, and, by the aid of his fore paws, Medor was soon freed from his ignoble fetters. No sooner had he regained his liberty, than he began to scent with avidity all round the yard, moaning the whole time; then he dashed against the stable door as if he would break it in. His master, astonished, opened it for him, supposing, from what he knew of his instinct, that some suspicious person might be concealed there; but Medor was contented with running across the stable, still scenting, to the opposite door, which led into the street, and which, by the means of this stable, formed one of the entrances to the inn. His master called him, he came back with reluctance, and, still moaning, laid down at his feet, as if to solicit a favour; then he ran to the vehicle, again returned, and rushed with greater violence against the first door, which his master had in the mean time closed. Astonished at these manœuvres, Va-bon-train went to his cart; but everything was in order, the trunk locked, and nothing apparently to justify the dog's agitation. Then, presuming that Medor, notwithstanding his good sense, was, like all dogs and all children, impatient to set out on his journey, and had been seized with this fancy rather earlier than usual, he gave him a cut with his whip, sent him back to the cart, and returned to bed.

The next morning, when he went down, he called Medor, but no Medor answered. He sought for him everywhere, but without success; he then recollected what had taken place during the night, and feared that some one had stolen him.

"Was he there," demanded one of the travellers, "when you went down in the night to take something from your cart?" Va-bon-train declared that he had taken nothing from his cart.

"The heat was insufferable," continued the man, "and we had the window open. One of the workmen from the forge, who slept in my room, said: 'See, there is some one meddling with the box belonging to the exhibitor of the Marionettes.' 'His dog does not growl,' said I, 'so it must be the man himself. Never mind, friend; let us sleep.'"

Va-bon-train hastened to his box, which was still locked; he opened it, and found everything in disorder: Scaramouche had disappeared, as well as a dozen of Madras handkerchiefs, the remains of a lot purchased at the fair of Beaucaire, and the greater part of which had been sold on his journey. Who could have done this? Va-bon-train remembered having found a key upon the road, a few days after he had associated himself with Matthew, and which fitted his trunk. He lost it again the next day, but had not troubled himself about it. Now he guessed into whose hands it had fallen, and felt assured that Medor would not have allowed himself to be approached and led away by any one but an acquaintance.

"That boy who was at work close by, at the blacksmith's," said the landlord of the inn, "did he not come in here, and give the dog some drink?"

"He who came with the woman and the ass?" said the hostess. "He seemed to be a respectable lad."

"You may think so," replied a neighbour; "but when I saw him enter the stable yonder, after dark, I said to Cateau, What is that little vagabond going to do there?"

"Gervais!" exclaimed Michael.

"Yes," said the landlord, "he was called Gervais at the blacksmith's." The flush of anger mounted to the face of Va-bon-train. The idea of having been duped was added to the annoyance of his loss, and he swore that he would never again be caught overcoming a prejudice. A less hasty disposition would have examined whether the innkeeper and the neighbour were not speaking of different persons, and whether suspicion ought not more naturally to fall upon Thomas and La Mauricaude. But the woman whose explanations would have thrown light upon the subject had gone home, and among those who remained there was no one who had seen them, or, at all events, who would acknowledge to have done so; for where there is not some falsehood to complicate matters, it is rare that truth does not break out, so great is its tendency to manifest itself.

Guizot Madame (Elisabeth Charlotte Pauline) 1773-1827