Chapter VIII: A Battle

"Ah! here's our friend Passedix, whom we were so anxious about!" cried several of the reckless youths, when they spied the long, lank, yellow-faced chevalier, who always wore a helmet, which heightened his resemblance to Don Quixote, although his helmet was not of the shape of that worn by the Knight of the Rueful Countenance.

"Ah! here is the Sire de Jarnonville!" exclaimed others of the young men, at sight of the second of the two new-comers, who, by rough handling of the crowd, had arrived in front of the barber's shop.

He was a tall, handsome man, dressed in a rich but very sombre costume; his black doublet, slashed with white satin, had the appearance of a mourning garment; a black velvet cloak, faced with white, covered his shoulders; his full, funnel-shaped top-boots also were black, although most gentlemen wore yellow ones except when they went to war. His broad-brimmed hat, turned up in front, had no other ornament than a long plume of the same color as the cloak. So that the Sire de Jarnonville was sometimes given the sobriquet of the _Black Chevalier_.

He was thirty-eight years of age, but seemed much older, because his brown hair was beginning to turn gray; because his noble and regular features were almost always clouded, as if under the burden of painful thoughts; because his eyes also had ordinarily an expression of profound sadness; and lastly, because his brow was furrowed with premature wrinkles, and the clouds which darkened it were rarely dissipated.

And yet this gentleman, whose aspect was so gloomy, and whom one would have taken to be the enemy of all pleasure, had for several years past participated in all the amusements and festivities, and especially in all the brutal tricks which were played on bourgeois, tradesmen, and even attachés of the court. Whenever one of the most dissolute frequenters of the bathing establishments proposed some new escapade--to abduct a woman, to hoodwink a guardian, or to thrash the watch and throw a whole quarter into dismay, he could be certain beforehand that the Sire de Jarnonville would join him; he was one of the first volunteers in all perilous undertakings; he always rushed to the spot where the danger was greatest, fought like four men, and was the last to leave the field.

If anyone had a duel on hand and lacked a second, the Black Chevalier was always ready to render him that service, without even inquiring as to the subject of the dispute or the name of the adversary; but always on condition that he should fight with the opposing seconds.--Did anyone propose to gamble and drink, Jarnonville gambled and drank, and sometimes drank too much. Amid the companions of his revels, at the banquet table, in a midnight affray, in a duel, he almost always retained that melancholy expression which had aged his features before their time; to one who watched him fight and gamble and drink, it seemed that he did all those things without inclination or pleasure, but solely in the hope of diverting his thoughts; and that he could not succeed in doing it. Such was the personage who had forced his way through the crowd and taken his stand beside the Marquis de Sénange, while the Chevalier de Passedix approached Bourriquet's hind quarters and contemplated with admiration the pretty girl who was seated thereon.

"Ah! here is Jarnonville! Vivat! the victory is ours!"

"Come on our side, O Black Chevalier! you arrive in the nick of time; there's a girl to be kidnapped, and a clown to be beaten!"

"Vrai Dieu! it seems to me that there are a good many of you for such a small matter!" rejoined the Sire de Jarnonville, casting his eye over the crowd assembled before the barber's house.

"Yes; but the task is not so simple as you might think, my master; for we must obtain possession of this pretty wench without doing her the slightest harm; and yonder idiot, with his club, is capable of wounding the little one in trying to defend her."

"Ah! he knows how to handle the staff, does he? So much the better! we will judge of his talent."

"Sandioux! messeigneurs," cried Passedix, "why do you attack this child? and this stout youth whom she presses to her heart, rolling her lovely eyes to beseech our compassion?--I wish, first of all, to know the subject of the quarrel; and I object beforehand to any sort of force being put upon such a charming wench!"

"Come, come, valiant Passedix, just move away from that nag's hind quarters and come over to our side! Do you mean to desert our camp? are you going over to the Greeks?"

"Beware, second Don Quixote; we shall have no mercy for traitors!"

"Cadédis! if you think to frighten me, my boy, you waste your time and your words! With my good Roland, this trusty blade which came to me from my godfather Chaudoreille, I will spit you all like smelts, provided that this lovely child accepts me for her knight. One word from her sweet mouth, and I make mincemeat of you all!"

Bursts of laughter greeted the Gascon chevalier's braggadocio; but he, drawing his long sword, put the point to the ground before Miretta, and bent his knee as he said to her:

"Answer, O marvellous queen of Paphos and Cythera! Will you accept me for your champion in the combat which I beg the privilege of undertaking for you? Give me a pledge--the merest trifle--your glove; you have none? then your pretty hand, that I may kiss it; and I am victor!"

Miretta stared in utter amazement at that tall man, thin as an asparagus stalk, who was almost kneeling at her horse's tail; she seemed not at all inclined to accept him for her knight, for ugliness inspires women with little confidence, and the Chevalier Passedix was perfectly ugly.

But the Béarnais peasant, still twirling his staff, said to the Gascon:

"Thanks for your offer, seigneur cavalier; it isn't to be refused.--Here are I don't know how many of them setting on me, and I am all alone to defend my travelling companion! My opinion is that it's a cowardly trick! But come and take my side, and I'll warrant that with my club and your spit we'll prevent these gentry from carrying off Miretta."

Although he considered the term _spit_ in very bad taste as applied to Roland, the valorous Passedix, whom Miretta's eyes had already taken captive, instantly took his stand in front of the horse, threatening the assailants with his sword.

While these things were taking place about the travellers, Master Hugonnet and his daughter, having learned the subject of the quarrel, were striving to make the reckless youths drawn up in battle array in front of the shop listen to reason. But that which at first was a simple jest had become, in the eyes of those young dandies, a matter of self-esteem, almost of honor. No one of them was willing to give ground before Cédrille's staff. In order that the dispute should come to an end without violence, it would have been necessary for the peasant to agree to apologize to those who had jeered at him and insulted him, and he was in no mood to humble himself before them.

"By Notre-Dame! messeigneurs," said Hugonnet, going from one to another of his customers, with his basin of soapsuds in one hand and his shaving brush in the other, "what have this peasant and his companion done to you that you should pick a quarrel with them? What an idea--to throw a whole quarter into commotion and bring the whole neighborhood to the windows, for two travellers who have only one horse between them!"

"Leave us in peace, Hugonnet; attend to your own affairs; this doesn't concern you!"

"Pardieu! yes, it does concern me; for you are blocking the whole street, you are in battle order in front of my house, so that it would be impossible for anyone to come near who might happen to want a bath or a shave! So you see that you injure me with your quarrelling, and that it does concern me."

"For heaven's sake, messieurs," said Ambroisine, in her turn, "do not torment this poor traveller like this! What pleasure can you find in frightening a woman? Let these people go their way. They are not Parisians--anyone can see that! They do not know that you are only threatening them in joke."

"In joke!" repeated young La Valteline, with a frown. "But you are not aware, _belle baigneuse_, that that peasant's staff has soiled my cloak!--Oh! I must chastise him for that! These knaves must be taught the respect that they owe us."

"And why do you jeer at them and attack them, if you wish them to respect you?"

"Enough, fair Ambroisine! sermons are all right for preachers, but they amount to nothing in a pretty girl's mouth!"

"Come, Jarnonville! forward! have at him! have at him! let us trounce the peasant!"

"Not without my helping to defend him!" ejaculated Master Hugonnet, running to take his stand beside the travellers, still carrying his basin and shaving brush.

"And I will not allow that girl to be insulted, without doing what I can to help her!" cried Ambroisine, following her father and placing herself in front of Miretta.

"That is right! good! good for _la baigneuse_!" cried all the women, who had been drawn to the scene by the noise of the quarrel. "You are on the girl's side, and we too will defend her!"

"All these ne'er-do-wells are fit for nothing but to insult women!"

"Let us pick up stones and throw them at the villains!"

"No, no! by Notre-Dame!" cried Hugonnet. "No stones, I entreat you! You will break my windows and my sign, and I shall have to pay for all the damage! We shall be able to settle this business without you!"

The young gentlemen were embarrassed, for, although eager to fight and having little fear of their adversaries, they were afraid that in the scrimmage they might injure the pretty traveller and Ambroisine.

The latter, divining what held them back, took delight in defying all those fine cavaliers, who were in the habit of making love to her, and several of whom called out to her:

"Come away from there, _belle baigneuse_; that is no place for you!"

"You are in our way. Besides, you ought not to take sides against your customers!"

"I don't care a fig for customers! Let these travellers go their way, and I will agree to shave all of you."

This proposition seemed to make an impression on several of the young men; but the Sire de Jarnonville, irritated by all this discussion, drew his sword and strode toward the horse's head. With a few passes he soon sent the famous Roland flying through the air. Passedix, disarmed, called loudly for another weapon.

The Black Chevalier thereupon turned his attention to the dogwood staff, but he had not so simple a task as with the Gascon's sword.

At that moment, a young page, who had stolen forward to unseat Miretta, was confronted by Master Hugonnet; and he, having no other weapons than his basin and shaving brush, instantly covered the page with a thick coating of lather, filling his nose and mouth and even his eyes with it; whereupon the assailant began to shriek at the top of his voice. All eyes were turned in that direction. At sight of that face completely covered with lather, a roar of laughter burst from all who were present, friends and foes, combatants and lookers-on; it was as if they were trying to see who could laugh the loudest.

This incident suspended the combat for a moment. But the Sire de Jarnonville, who alone had taken no part in the general merriment, immediately renewed his attack on the peasant's staff. Whether because Cédrille's arm was tired, or because the sight of that gleaming weapon, whirling through the air and sometimes striking sparks, dazzled his eyes, he began to defend himself less vigorously. At last, a blow dealt with more force than usual broke the staff.

The peasant was beaten; the Black Chevalier's weapon was already on the point of forcing him to dismount, when Ambroisine, who had left her post a moment before, suddenly reappeared, carrying in her arms a little boy of three or four years; and darting in front of Jarnonville, she held the child out to him, crying:

"Take care, seigneur, you will wound this child!"

Those words and the sight of the little boy produced a magical effect on the Black Chevalier. He paused and dropped his arm, which was raised to strike; the warlike ardor which enlivened his face gave way to an expression of sadness, almost of tenderness. He gazed for some seconds at the little fellow, who, not realizing that he was in the midst of a battle, was not in the least frightened, but smiled up at the chevalier, crying:

"I'd like to fight, too!"

Jarnonville stooped to kiss the child's forehead, and replaced his sword in its sheath. Then, turning to the young noblemen, who were utterly amazed at the change that had taken place in him, he said to them:

"It's all over, messieurs; the treaty of peace is signed!"

"What! all over? How so, if we are not satisfied?"

"I tell you that it is all over! This peasant has been conquered, disarmed; what more do you want?"

"We want him to apologize."

"We want most of all to kiss the pretty girl whom he has _en croupe_."

Jarnonville's only reply was to push aside with his arm all those who stood in front of the horse, thus clearing a passage for him. Then he made a sign to the peasant, who understood him and dug his heels into Bourriquet's ribs. This time the poor beast seemed to share his master's desire, and asked nothing better than to leave the field of battle. He trotted off at full speed down Rue Saint-Jacques, and Cédrille and his pretty companion soon disappeared from the eyes of the crowd.

All this had happened so quickly that Miretta hardly had time to grasp Ambroisine's hand and say:

"Thanks! thanks! you have saved us! I shall come to see you, and to tell you how grateful I am!"

"Come; you will ask for Ambroisine, the daughter of Master Hugonnet the bath keeper, on Rue Saint-Jacques."