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Page 5
The implacable legion of hunters and huntresses did not fail to start on
my heels with renewed ardor and stupid mirth. I still recognized at their
head the lady with the waving blue plume, who distinguished herself by her
peculiar animosity, and upon whom I invoked with all my heart the most
serious accidents to which equestrianism may be subject. It was she who
encouraged her odious accomplices, when I had succeeded for a moment in
eluding the pursuit; she discovered me with infernal keen-sightedness,
pointed me out with the tip of her whip, and broke into a barbarous laugh
whenever she saw me resume my race through the bushes, blowing, panting,
desperate, absurd. I ran thus during a space of time of which I am unable
to form any estimate, accomplishing unprecedented feats of gymnastics,
tearing through the thorny brambles, sinking into the miry spots, leaping
over the ditches, bounding upon my feet with the elasticity of a panther,
galloping to the devil, without reason, without object, and without any
other hope but that of seeing the earth open beneath my feet.
At last, and surely by chance--for I had long since lost all topographical
notions--I discovered the ruins just ahead of me; with a last effort, I
cleared the open space that separates them from the forest; I ran through
the church as if I had been excommunicated, and I arrived panting before
the door of the mill. The miller and his wife were standing on the
threshold, attracted, doubtless, by the noise of the cavalcade that was
following close on my heels; they looked at me with an expression of
stupor; I tried in vain to find a few words of explanation to cast to them
as I ran by, and after incredible efforts of intelligence, I was only able
to murmur in a silly tone: "If any one asks for me, say I am not in!" Then
I cleared in three jumps the stairs leading to my cell, and I sank upon my
bed in a state of complete prostration.
In the meantime, Paul, the hunting-party were crowding tumultuously into
the court-yard of the abbey; I could hear the stamping of the horses'
feet, the voices of the riders, and even the sound of their boots on the
flagging, which proved that some of them had alighted and were threatening
me with a last assault. I started up with a gesture of rage, and I glanced
at my pistols. Fortunately, after a few minutes' conversation with the
miller, the hunters withdrew, not without giving me to understand that, if
they had formed a better opinion of my character, they went away with a
most amusing idea of the eccentricity of my disposition.
Such is, my dear friend, a faithful historical account of that unlucky
day, during which I covered myself frankly, and from head to foot, with a
species of humiliation to which any Frenchman would prefer that of crime.
I have, at this moment, the satisfaction of knowing that I am in a
neighboring chateau, in the midst of a gathering of brilliant men and
lovely young women, an inexhaustible subject for jokes. I feel, moreover,
since my flank movement (as it is customary in war to call precipitate
retreats), that I have lost something of my dignity in my own eyes, and I
cannot conceal to myself, besides, that I am far from enjoying the same
consideration on the part of my rustic hosts.
In presence of a situation so seriously compromised, it became necessary
to hold council; after a brief deliberation, I rejected far, far from me,
as puerile and pusillanimous, the project suggested to me by my vanity at
bay, that of giving up my lodgings, and even of leaving the district
entirely. I made up my mind to pursue philosophically the course of my
labors and my pleasures, to show a soul superior to circumstances, and in
short, to give to the Amazons, the centaurs, and the millers the fine
spectacle of the wise man in adversity.
[A] Charles VI., King of France, became demented in consequence
of his horse being stopped, during a hunt in the forest of Mans, by what
seemed to him a supernatural being.--(TRANS.)
CHAPTER III.
THE MARQUIS DE MALOUET.
MALOUET, _20th September_.
I have just received your letter. You belong to the true breed of
Monomotapa friends, Paul. But what puerility! And such is the case of your
sudden return! A trifle, a silly nightmare which for two successive nights
caused you to hear the sound of my voice calling on you for help! Ah!
bitter fruits of the wretched German cuisine! Really, Paul, you are
foolish! And yet, you tell me things that move me to tears. I cannot
answer you as I would like to. My heart is tender, but my speech is dry.
I have never been able to tell any one, "I love you!" There is a jealous
fiend who checks on my lips every word of affection, and imparts to it a
tone of irony. But, thank God, you know me!
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