Part 14 (1/2)
”There are persons waiting for you, upstairs... some gentlemen... They want you.”
”Want me!.. _Outre!_.. What for?” And No. 1 of his folding series appeared before him: Tartarin captured, extradited... Of course he was frightened, but his att.i.tude was heroic. Quickly detaching himself from Sonia: ”Fly, save yourself!” he said to her in a smothered voice. Then he mounted the stairs as if to the scaffold, his head high, his eyes proud, but so disturbed in mind that he was forced to cling to the bal.u.s.ter.
As he entered the corridor, he saw persons grouped at the farther end of it before his door, looking through the keyhole, rapping, and calling out: ”Hey! Tartarin...”
He made two steps forward, and said, with parched lips: ”Is it I whom you are seeking, messieurs?”
”_Te! pardi_, yes, my president!.”
And a little old man, alert and wiry, dressed in gray, and apparently bringing on his coat, his hat, his gaiters and his long and pendent moustache all the dust of his native town, fell upon the neck of the hero and rubbed against his smooth fat cheeks the withered leathery skin of the retired captain of equipment.
”Bravida!.. not possible!.. Excourbanies too!.. and who is that over there?..”
A bleating answered: ”Dear ma-a-aster!..” and the pupil advanced, banging against the wall a sort of long fis.h.i.+ng-rod with a packet at one end wrapped in gray paper, and oilcloth tied round it with string.
”Hey! _ve!_ why it's Pascalon... Embrace me, little one... What's that you are carrying?.. Put it down...”
”The paper... take off the paper!..” whispered Bravida. The youth undid the roll with a rapid hand and the Tarasconese banner was displayed to the eyes of the amazed Tartarin.
The delegates took off their hats.
”President”--the voice of Bravida trembled solemnly--”you asked for the banner and we have brought it, _te!_”
The president opened a pair of eyes as round as apples: ”I! I asked for it?”
”What! you did not ask for it? Bezuquet said so.
”Yes, yes, _certainemain_...” said Tartarin, suddenly enlightened by the mention of Bezuquet. He understood all and guessed the rest, and, tenderly moved by the ingenious lie of the apothecary to recall him to a sense of duty and honour, he choked, and stammered in his short beard: ”Ah! my children, how kind you are! What good you have done me!”
”_Vive le presidain!_” yelped Pascalon, brandis.h.i.+ng the oriflamme.
Excourbanies' gong responded, rolling its war-cry (” Ha! ha! ha! _fen de brut_..”) to the very cellars of the hotel. Doors opened, inquisitive heads protruded on every floor and then disappeared, alarmed, before that standard and the dark and hairy men who were roaring singular words and tossing their arms in the air. Never had the peaceable Hotel Jungfrau been subjected to such a racket.
”Come into my room,” said Tartarin, rather disconcerted. He was feeling about in the darkness to find matches when an authoritative rap on the door made it open of itself to admit the consequential, yellow, and puffy face of the innkeeper Meyer. He was about to enter, but stopped short before the darkness of the room, and said with closed teeth:
”Try to keep quiet... or I 'll have you taken up by the police...”
A grunt as of wild bulls issued from the shadow at that brutal term ”taken up.” The hotel-keeper recoiled one step, but added: ”It is known who you are; they have their eye upon you; for my part, I don't want any more such persons in my house!..”
”Monsieur Meyer,” said Tartarin, gently, politely, but very firmly...
”Send me my bill... These gentlemen and myself start to-morrow morning for the Jungfrau.”
O native soil! O little country within a great one! by only hearing the Tarasconese accent, quivering still with the air of that beloved land beneath the azure folds of its banner, behold Tartarin, delivered from love and its snares and restored to his friends, his mission, his glory.
And now, _zou!_
IX.
At the ”Faithful Chamois.”