Paris (France) -- History -- 19th century -- Fiction; Philadelphia (Pa.) -- History -- 19th century -- Fiction
"As she ended, I looked at the man, and as we stood I saw that now the
rascal was shedding tears. A moment later he passed his sleeve across
his eyes, and said: ’If it please you, Monsieur le Duc, let us go to the
opening and see more of the neighborhood.’ We went with them a little
way, and stood waiting. It was so wonderful and so lovely to get a
glimpse even of the fading light of day! It came straight up the cave
from the west. We made no objection to being left alone, and just
stayed, as it were, feeding on the ruddy glare, and blinking at it like
young owlets. Every now and then my mother turned to St. Maur or me, and
smiled and nodded, as much as to say, ’We have light.’
"Before long they came back, and there was then a long talk of which we
did not hear all, but not for want of eager ears. This council of war
being over, François went back into the caves, and soon after returned
laughing, and dressed in the clothes of the unlucky municipal guard.
"’One must not criticize what one inherits,’ he said. ’The pantaloons
are brief, and the waistcoat is of such vastness as I would choose to
wear to-day to a good dinner.’
"As the light was now quite good, I saw this comical figure as I had not
seen him before. He was tall and gaunt, with a nose of unusual length,
and was very ruddy for so thin a man. He seemed to be all the time on a
broad grin. He looked queer enough, too, in the short pantaloons and
baggy waistcoat.
"’Now,’ he said, ’I am to tie the Duke’s hands behind his back. He is,
you see, an aristocrat I am taking to Sainte Pélagie. Madame his wife
and these children follow as I shall order. Poor things! they do not
want to escape.’
"At this the Duke, whom most things amused, submitted to be tied, but
laughed heartily at the comedy, as he called it.
"’_Dieu!_’ said the thief. ’This is an affair of all our lives. See,
Monsieur; you have but to turn the wrist, and you are free, in case of
need.’
"The Duke, still smiling, promised to be a perfect and indignant
aristocrat, and our thief entreated us all to look as sorrowful as we
could. Of this lesson, my mother, poor lady, had small need; but we
boys had recovered our spirits with sight of day, and when the thief
besought us and showed us how we were to look, we were seized with such
mirth that the Duke at last bade us understand that it was no laughing
matter, and we promised to act our parts. Finally we were made to fill
our pockets with the most of the gold found in the bag, and the rest the
Duke and my mother stowed away, while the thief took the Duke’s pistols,
and, leaving the others, girded on the dead man’s sword.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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