"It's all right, Grampus," he said, after comparing it with the
original. "How long shall I be on my back here?"
"Can't say. Why?"
"Because I've something to do when we've discovered the cipher. You and
I must do that, and, by all appearance, it will take time."
"No good asking me. Never answered a riddle in my life. Blinks of
Merton tried me just before I came down. Strolled into my room one
morning--Blinks always dawdles,--threw his leg over a chair, and piped
up: 'Grampus, my dear, would you like to answer a question?' 'Well?'
says I. 'Tell me,' says he: 'Why do birds in their little nests agree?'
'Bet you they don't always,' says I. He was put out; I could see it.
He don't like a chap to be serious, you know. Yet he's a good sort; so
to please him I said: 'Why do they, then?' 'Because if they didn't
they'd fall out,' says he, and strolled away quite happy. I call that
mighty clever, don't you?"
Jack made a rapid recovery. The fresh air, the good simple food, the
unremitting care of Dugdale and Antonio, and perhaps, more than all, his
own strong determination, soon set him upon his feet. When he was first
allowed by the Grampus to leave the cave, he was much amused at the
sight of Commissary Taberne sitting on an upturned pail, peeling
potatoes, and singing as blithely as a bird:
"Ma mie,
Ma douce amie,
Reponds a mes amours;
Fidele
A cette belle,
Je l'aimerai toujours.
Si j'avais cent coeurs,
Ils ne seraient remplis que d'elle;
Si j'avais cent--"
"Bravo, monsieur, et bonjour!" said Jack,
"Ha! Qui est-ce que j'ai l'honneur de voir?"
The commissary sprang off his perch, catching at the bowl of potatoes
just in time to prevent a cataclysm. He presented a queer figure as he
stood there, in Spanish vest and pantaloons, with bare arms and legs,
for it was a hot day. Laying his hand on his portly middle, he made a
bow as low as he conveniently could.
"I congratulate you, monsieur," he said. "I am pleased to see you once
more in health. Ah ca! but you have the courage, you English! It was
magnificent--to come into the room alone and face me, Gustave Taberne,
single-handed. Parbleu! you took me by surprise, or--Ah! and I
congratulate myself that it was not my sword that wounded so admirable a
warrior. Nom d'un tonnerre! that wretch, that scamp, that renegade,
that Don Miguel What's-his-name--if I could catch him! Gr-r-r-r!"
"I hope you have been well treated, monsieur," said Jack politely.
The commissary shrugged.
"Me voici!" he said. "Here am I, a commissary-general of the emperor's,
accustomed to feed huge armies, the winner of innumerable victories that
others have the credit of,--and behold me, peeling potatoes for a herd
of unwashed, thieving, villainous, abomin--"
"Stay, stay!" interrupted Jack. "I really cannot hear my friends
abused."
"Pardon, monsieur. I for one moment forgot myself. I have feelings, I
am sentimental, I am upset; I see myself on the road to glory; then,
vlan! the vision dissolves; it is a mirage!"
"The marquisate is a little farther off, you mean, monsieur?"
"He quoi?"
Monsieur Taberne looked puzzled.
"Do you remember, monsieur," asked Jack, "a little inn at Olmedo, where
one day last November you made your first acquaintance with the puchero,
and honoured with your conversation a young Spaniard, about my own age,
who happened to be able to speak a little French?"
"H'm! h'm! I have a slight recollection of the incident. I got a good
deal of information out of the young cockerel, if I'm not mistaken."
Jack smiled.
"You were looking forward then, monsieur, to being made a peer of
France, like Marshal Lefebvre, Duke of Dantzig. I am sorry that this
little check has happened in your career. You promised then, you
remember, to join me some day in drinking a bottle of Valdepenas--none
of your tarred vinegar of Toro, you know--when your duty was done. You
have one more potato to peel, monsieur. While you are doing that, no
doubt my good friend Antonio will produce a bottle of Valdepenas from
his store."
During this speech the commissary had stared at Jack in amazement.
"Par le sambleu!" he ejaculated, "it is the very same!"
He dropped down on his tub, his mouth agape, and mechanically took up
his last potato, which he began to pare with the dexterity of long
practice. He was evidently casting back to that November day, and
racking his memory to recover the details of his conversation. Jack's
eyes twinkled. The commissary caught his look, and, flinging the
newly-peeled potato into the bowl, uttered a huge guffaw.
"Zut!" he cried, "I see twice, monsieur, that you are a dangerous person
to meet. One needs to be of the greatest discretion. It is not only
your sword that is formidable. Tenez: voici le Valdepenas! I had hoped
you would have been my guest. N'importe; Valdepenas is Valdepenas. The
fortune of war is now to you; perhaps on another occasion--"
"No, thank you," said Jack, laughing, "unless our two nations are at
peace. Let me say, monsieur, how glad I am that you take your little
mischance with so much philosophy. I am not in command here, of course,
but if there is anything I can do--"
"Morbleu, monsieur, you can do me an infinite favour. The potatoes--they
are nothing; but the onions!--sapristi! when one weeps for sentiment, it
is noble, it is French; but when one weeps for onions, it is a
degradation. Bien sur! precisement ca! allez!"
*CHAPTER XXXII*
*The Prisoner at Bayonne*