Cerise: A Tale of the Last CenturyWhyte-Melville, G. J. (George John)
General
Cerise: A Tale of the Last Century
Whyte-Melville, G. J. (George John)
Historical fiction
“Ears! _Les oreilles!_” repeated the voice above stairs, in a tone
of repressed passion, that seemed to afford his antagonist intense
amusement. “_Soyez tranquil, mes enfants._ My children, do not derange
yourselves. Sir, you have insulted me; you have insulted my society. You
shall answer me. _Monsieur! vous allez me rendre raison!_”
Thus speaking, the dancing-master, for such was the foreign gentleman
whose professional avocations the parlour-lodger had interrupted, made
his appearance at the head of the stairs, with a small fiddle under
his arm and a sheathed rapier in his hand; the passage below was quite
dark, but the light from an open door behind him brought his figure into
relief, whilst the skipper, on the contrary, remained unseen in the
gloom. Notwithstanding that the one was in a towering passion, the other
shook with suppressed laughter.
“Come on,” he shouted roughly, though he could scarce command his voice,
adding in a more natural tone, and with a perfect French accent—“_On
prétend, dans les Mousquetaires du Roi, que Monsieur est de la première
force pour l’epée!_”
The effect was instantaneous. With one spring the dancing-master was upon
him, kissing both his cheeks, hugging him in his arms, and repeating,
with eyes full of tears—
“Captain George! Captain George! My comrade, my captain, my officer; and
I thought I was without a friend in this miserable country; without a
friend and without a _sou_! Now I have found the one, I don’t care about
the other. Oh, what happiness! What fortune! What luck!”
The former Captain of Musketeers seemed equally pleased, if in a less
demonstrative manner, at this unexpected meeting, though he had been
better prepared for so strange a termination of their dispute by his
recognition of the other’s voice before he caught sight of his figure.
Now he pulled him into the parlour, sent for Butter-faced Bob to fill the
capacious punch-bowl, pressed him into a chair with both hands on his
shoulders, and looked gravely into his face, saying—
“Eugène, I owe you my life, and I am a man who never left a debt unpaid.”
CHAPTER XXIV
A VOLUNTEER
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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