THE MAN IN RAGS
The Marquise d'Esclignac, under the stars, interviewed the native
soldier, the beggar, the man in rags, at the foot of the veranda.
There was a moon as well as stars, and the man was distinctly visible
in all his squalor.
"What on earth is he talking about, Robert?"
"About Sabron, _marraine_," said her godson laconically.
The Marquise d'Esclignac raised her lorgnon and said:
"Speak, man! What do you know about Monsieur de Sabron? See, he is
covered with dirt--has leprosy, probably." But she did not withdraw.
She was a great lady and stood her ground. She did not know what the
word "squeamish" meant.
Listening to the man's jargon and putting many things together,
Tremont at last turned to the Marquise d'Esclignac who was sternly
fixing the beggar with her haughty condescension:
"_Marraine_, he says that Sabron is alive, in the hands of natives in
a certain district where there is no travel, in the heart of the
seditious tribes. He says that he has friends in a caravan of
merchants who once a year pass the spot where this native village is."
"The man's a lunatic," said the Marquise d'Esclignac calmly. "Get
Abimelec and put him out of the garden, Robert. You must not let
Julia hear of this."
"_Marraine_," said Tremont quietly, "Mademoiselle Redmond has already
seen this man. He has come to see her to-night."
"How perfectly horrible!" said the Marquise d'Esclignac. Then she
asked rather weakly of Tremont: "Don't you think so?"
"Well, I think," said Tremont, "that the only interesting thing is
the truth there may be in what this man says. If Sabron is a
captive, and he knows anything about it, we must use his information
for all it is worth."
"Of course," said the Marquise d'Esclignac, "of course. The war
department must be informed at once. Why hasn't he gone there?"
"He has explained," said Tremont, "that the only way Sabron can be
saved is that he shall be found by outsiders. One hint to his
captors would end his life."
"Oh!" said the Marquise d'Esclignac. "I don't know what to do, Bob!
What part can we take in this?"
Tremont pulled his mustache. Mimi had circled round the beggar,
snuffing at his slippers and his robe. The man made no objection to
the little creature, to the fluffy ball surrounded by a huge bow, and
Mimi sat peacefully down in the moonlight, at the beggar's feet.
"Mimi seems to like him," said the Marquise d'Esclignac helplessly,
"she is very particular."
"She finds that he has a serious and convincing manner," said Tremont.
Now the man, who had been a silent listener to the conversation, said
in fairly comprehensible English to the Marquise d'Esclignac:
"If the beautiful grandmother could have seen the Capitaine de Sabron
on the night before the battle--"
"Grandmother, indeed!" exclaimed the marquise indignantly. "Come,
Mimi! Robert, finish with this creature and get what satisfaction
you can from him. I believe him to be an impostor; at any rate, he
does not expect me to mount a camel or to lead a caravan to the
rescue."
Tremont put Mimi in her arms; she folded her lorgnon and sailed
majestically away, like a highly decorated pinnace with silk sails,
and Tremont, in the moonlight, continued to talk with the sincere and
convincing Hammet Abou.