Maître Picard had borrowed a horse from a neighbour—a heavy Flemish animal, as plump as the bourgeois himself, which went its own pace, and would be put into no other. He would have hired a voiture de place to go in state; but in the first place, the hire was somewhat beyond his means, and secondly, he thought a horse more warlike than sitting all the way to jolt upon a haquet or patache—his ordinary species of carriage; so he determined to ride: and Blacquart was to be seated upon the pillion,—rather against his will, but a manner he still preferred to getting there as he could; for he had adopted his martial costume on purpose to creep into the palace under the wing of Maître Picard, and fell readily into whatever plans the bourgeois proposed.
They mounted amidst the cheers and admiration of the whole neighbourhood. But scarcely had they settled on their respective divisions of the horse’s back, when Blacquart, drawing himself up to look imposing, overbalanced himself, and, together with Maître Picard, was shot over upon the ground. The girths had evidently been undone by one of the wicked students of the Sorbonne, who was standing near.
At length this was set right again, their pride preventing either of them from owning to be hurt, and they started on their progress, descending the Rue de la Harpe with great effect, and crossing the river by the Pont St. Michel. Maître Picard assumed a grave and steady bearing, becoming his dignity; but Jean Blacquart put on the airs of a gallant, winking at the windows when any pretty face appeared, or singing songs of chivalry and love in accordance with his dress.
It took a long time for Maître Picard and his companion to traverse the four leagues between Paris and Versailles. The road was filled with acquaintances journeying in the same direction; and with these the bourgeois would stop at almost every hostelry for a friendly cup, and sometimes two, in which the Gascon joined him, so that it was well-nigh evening when they came to the end of the Avenue de Paris, at the gates of the semicircular outer court which then formed the entrance to the chateau. There was great confusion and noise in the court. Numbers of heavy carriages, of the quaint fashion of the age, drawn by four, six, and even eight horses, nearly filled the area, besides soldiers, country people, and lackeys of the different guests. A richly-ornamented voiture, drawn by four cream-coloured steeds, preceded them up to the palace door, whither Maître Picard insisted on proceeding mounted, although Blacquart had descended from his pillion, thinking such a position somewhat derogatory for a man of chivalric demeanour.
The people were running at the side of the carriage and peeping into it. Maître Picard resolved to exert his authority to procure a better view for himself; so, rolling in some strange fashion from his horse, which he gave over to the care of a bystander, he put the crowd back, and cleared a way to the doors. Four females descended. The two first were elegantly dressed; the third wore a fancy costume, which had possibly attracted the attention of the mob; and the last was attired as a superior attendant. But all were handsome enough to draw the regards of the people towards them. As the first of these dames passed, Maître Picard made a low bow, and then drew himself up, and ruffled his plumes like a peacock.
‘Who is that?’ asked Jean Blacquart, who had come up to the Cour de Marbre, and was blustering his way through the crowd.
‘An excellent lady,’ replied Maître Picard aloud, ‘and my good friend. It is Madame Scarron, the widow of the author who wrote the Écolier de Salamanque. He was not a handsome man—Mass! lame, crooked, and paralytic; but he drew all the world to the theatre in the Rue de la Poterie.’
A brilliantly dressed woman followed her, and the crowd expressed their admiration as she rustled past them.
‘Stand back, fellow!’ said Maître Picard, bustling. ‘Room for Madame la Marquise de Brinvilliers! Make way there!’
The Marchioness smiled and passed on; Jean Blacquart thought her regards were directed to himself, as he cocked his hat, and stretched forward his leg in an attitude.