France -- History -- Revolution, 1789-1799 -- Fiction
Charlot did return. Scarce were they seated at their wine when the
confused sounds that from the distance had been swelling took more
definite shape. The hostess looked uneasy as La Boulaye rose and went to
the door of the inn. Down the road marched now a numerous company from
which--to judge by their odd appearance--the players at bowls had been
drawn. They numbered close upon threescore, and in the centre of them
came a great lumbering vehicle, which puzzled La Boulaye. He drew away
from the door and posted himself at the window, so that unobserved he
might ascertain what was toward. Into the courtyard came that company,
pele-mele, an odd mixture of rags and gauds, yet a very lusty party,
vigorous of limb and loud of voice. With them came the coach, and there
was such a press about the gates that La Boulaye looked to see some of
them crushed to death. But with a few shouts and oaths and threats at
one another they got through in safety, and the unwieldy carriage was
brought to a standstill.
They were clamouring about its doors, and to La Boulaye it seemed that
they were on the point of quarrelling among themselves, some wanting to
enter the coach and others seeking to restrain them, when through the
porte-cochere rode Charlot Tardivet himself.
He barked out a sharp word of command, and they grew silent and still,
testifying to a discipline which said much for the strength of character
of their captain. He was strangely altered, was this Tardivet, and
his appearance now was worthy of his followers. Under a gaudily-laced,
three-cornered hat his hair hung dishevelled and unkempt, like wisps of
straw. He wore a coat of flowered black silk, with a heavy gold edging,
and a very bright plum-coloured waistcoat showed above the broad
tricolour scarf that sashed his middle. His breeches were white (or
had been white in origin), and disappeared into a pair of very lustrous
lacquered boots that rose high above his knees. A cavalry sabre of
ordinary dimensions hung from a military belt, and a pistol-butt,
peeping from his sash, completed the astonishing motley of his
appearance. For the rest, he was the same tall and well-knit fellow;
but there was more strength in his square chin, more intelligence in the
keen blue eyes, and, alas! more coarseness in the mouth, which bristled
with a reddish beard of some days' growth.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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