A PHILOSOPHER BEHIND HORSE-PISTOLS
The procession of carriages containing the guests rolled back to the
Palace through the forest.
The carriage of the Prince came last and in it sat the Prince and
Princess, Cyrène and Jude, while Lecour rode alongside for some miles.
How more and more he dreaded the revelation of his humble birth. He said
his adieux at length and turned back with the keenest misery in his
breast he had ever felt--such misery indeed that after a little he could
not resist retracing his route.
The Prince's coach meanwhile had lagged behind the others at a point
where the road cut through a small gorge. His Excellency was giving the
ladies an account and history of the Chevalier's wounds, when in the
middle of it the horses stopped with a jerk. A commotion without any
words appeared to be going on outside. The Prince put his head out and
found himself looking into the barrels of a horse-pistol, while a masked
man of heavy build summoned him to be quiet. He saw moreover nine or ten
half-naked fellows also disguised in rude masks, posted about, with
muskets and pistols pointed at the grooms and himself. The Princess fell
in a faint. The Abbé threw himself under the seat. Such scenes were
being enacted every day on the highroads in that lumbering old handmade
century.
The head of the man who had charge of the Prince was, as it were,
thatched with a torn hat and his black hair straggled past his mask in
tufts down to his shoulders.
"Purses!" he growled harshly, putting his head in at the window.
"Cut-throat!" cried the Prince. "You shall swing for this as sure as
there is a Lieutenant of Police in Paris."
The big man's answer was a ferocious "Enough!"
And as his black finger twitched threateningly upon the trigger, Cyrène
laid her restraining hand on her cousin's arm. She took out her purse
with her other hand and passed it to the man. She promptly also pulled
out that of the Princess. The Prince handed his own to her and it was
passed over with that of his wife.
"Watches!" was the next order.
With the same coolness she passed these likewise.
He scowled next at the brooch Cyrène wore at her neck.
"Give me that," he commanded. She stopped and said firmly--
"Thou hast sufficient, thou."
"I must have that."
With a momentary impatience she tore it off.
"Consult thy best interests and go," she said in a stern voice.
He did not lack the necessary quickness of judgment, and signed to his
mates who retreated into the woods, keeping the lackeys well covered
with their firearms.
"My ladies and my Lord," said the big man, still holding his pistol
aimed at the Prince. "We levy this tax in _the name of the King_." That
is what you say when you steal from us, the people. "We commend you the
consolation of your formula."
Having made this singular speech, to the infinite fury of the Prince,
who would have drawn his sword and leaped out at him had it not been for
Cyrène, he retired backward into the forest.
Germain came into sight at this juncture. The scene shocked and
astonished him, he drove his spurs into the flanks of his horse, which,
with bounds of pain, flew forward, and leaping off, he peered anxiously
into the carriage. The situation was clear enough to him, for its like
was then only too common, so, placing aside for the time being his rage
at the villains, he lifted and straightened the insensible lady into a
position on the seat-cushions, and sent a groom forward for help.
The gratitude of the Prince was profuse. Cyrène spoke not a word. The
shock to her had been intense, and burying her face in her handkerchief
she burst into tears, which more than ever agitated Lecour.
In a few minutes d'Estaing and de Grancey drove up. They were astonished
at the speed and audacity of the affair.