Part 13 (1/2)
”Your husband is really a very brave man,” said Mademoiselle de Corandeuil, addressing Clemence.
”Brave as an old warrior. This time he pushed his courage to the verge of imprudence; I do not know what the result might have been if the crowd had not been dispersed a second time by the approach of the lancers, who were returning through the boulevard. I led Bergenheim into a cafe; fortunately, his arm was only sprained.” Just at this moment Marillac's story was interrupted by a sound of voices and hurried steps.
The door opened suddenly, and Aline burst into the room with her usual impetuosity.
”What has happened to you, Aline?” exclaimed Madame de Bergenheim, hurrying to her sister's side. The young girl's riding-habit and hat were covered with splashes of mud.
”Oh, nothing,” replied the young girl, in a broken voice; ”it was only t.i.tania, who wanted to throw me into the river. Do you know where Rousselet is? They say it is necessary to bleed him; and he is the only one who knows how to do it.”
”Whom do you mean, child? Is my husband wounded?” asked Clemence, turning pale.
”No, not Christian; it is a gentleman I do not know; only for him I should have been drowned. Mon Dieu! can not Rousselet be found?”
Aline left the room in great agitation. They all went over to the windows that opened out into the court, whence the sound of voices seemed to arise, and where they could hear the master's voice thundering out his commands. Several servants had gone to his a.s.sistance: one of them held t.i.tania by the bridle; she was covered with foam and mud, and was trembling, with distended nostrils, like a beast that knows it has just committed a wicked action. A young man was seated upon a stone bench, wiping away blood which streamed from his forehead. It was Monsieur de Gerfaut.
At this sight Clemence supported herself against the framework of the window, and Marillac hurriedly left the room.
Pere Rousselet, who had at last been found in the kitchen, advanced majestically, eating an enormous slice of bread and b.u.t.ter.
”Good heavens! have you arrived at last?” exclaimed Bergenheim. ”Here is a gentleman this crazy mare has thrown against a tree, and who has received a violent blow on the head. Do you not think it would be the proper thing to bleed him?”
”A slight phlebotomy might be very advantageous in stopping the extravasation of blood in the frontal region,” replied the peasant, calling to his aid all the technical terms he had learned when he was a hospital nurse.
”Are you sure you can do this bleeding well?”
”I'll take the liberty of saying to Monsieur le Baron that I phlebotomized Perdreau last week and Mascareau only a month ago, without any complaint from them.”
”Indeed! I believe you,” sneered the groom, ”both are on their last legs.”
”I am neither Perdreau nor Mascareau,” observed the wounded man with a smile.
Rousselet drew himself up at full height, with the dignity of a man of talent who scorns to reply to either criticism or mistrust.
”Monsieur,” said Gerfaut, turning to the Baron, ”I am really causing you too much trouble. This trifle does not merit the attention you give it.
I do not suffer in the least. Some water and a napkin are all that I need. I fancy that I resemble an Iroquois Indian who has just been scalped; my pride is really what is most hurt,” he added, with a smile, ”when I think of the grotesque sight I must present to the ladies whom I notice at the window.”
”Why, it is Monsieur de Gerfaut!” exclaimed Mademoiselle de Corandeuil, toward whom he raised his eyes.
Octave bowed to her with a gracious air. His glance wandered from the old lady to Clemence, who did not seem to have the strength to leave the window. M. de Bergenheim, after hurriedly greeting Marillac, finally yielded to the a.s.surance that a surgeon was unnecessary, and conducted the two friends to his own room, where the wounded man could find everything that he needed.
”What the devil was the use in sending me as amba.s.sador, since you were to make such a fine entrance upon the stage?” murmured Marillac in his friend's ear.
”Silence!” replied the latter as he pressed his hand; ”I am only behind the scenes as yet.”
During this time Clemence and her aunt had led Aline to her room.
”Now, tell us what all this means?” said Mademoiselle de Corandeuil, while the young girl was changing her dress.
”It was Christian's fault,” replied Aline. ”We were galloping along beside the river when t.i.tania became frightened by the branch of a tree. 'Do not be afraid!' exclaimed my brother. I was not in the least frightened; but when he saw that my horse was about to run away, he urged his on in order to join me. When t.i.tania heard the galloping behind her she did run away in earnest; she left the road and started straight for the river. Then I began to be a little frightened. Just fancy, Clemence, I bounded in the saddle at each leap, sometimes upon the mare's neck, sometimes upon the crupper; it was terrible! I tried to withdraw my foot from the stirrup as Christian had told me to do; but just then t.i.tania ran against the trunk of a tree, and I rolled over with her. A gentleman, whom I had not seen before, and who, I believe, actually jumped out of the ground, raised me from the saddle, where I was held by something, I do not know what; then that naughty t.i.tania threw him against the tree as he was helping me to my feet, and when I was able to look at him his face was covered with blood. Christian rushed on the scene, and, when he saw that I was not badly hurt, he ran after t.i.tania and beat her! Oh! how he beat her! Mon Dieu! how cruel men are! It was in vain for me to cry for mercy; he would not listen to me.