A flush of triumph passed over her face as she led Sainte-Croix from the grotto, leaving Louise Gauthier clinging to one of the statues for support—so pale, that she might have been taken for another figure of the group, but for the violent emotion that agitated her slight and trembling frame.
CHAPTER XVII.
THE GASCON GOES THROUGH FIRE AND WATER TO ATTRACT ATTENTION—THE BROTHER AND SISTER
During the stormy interview we have just narrated, the festivities were proceeding with unflagging splendour. The repast in the Bosquet de la Salle de Bal had finished, and the company were now thronging along the Tapis Vert, towards the Bassin de Neptune, whereon some magnificent fireworks were to be displayed. Beyond this the canal was illuminated by coloured lights placed round its edge, and quivering in the water by reflection; and a number of small boats, similarly decorated, passed to and fro, until they were almost lost in the distance. A species of vast tent, open towards the water, had been erected at the extremity of the Tapis Vert for the reception of Louis and his court; the inferior guests, who were not supposed to be sensible of any difference of temperature, stood about upon the grass, wherever the best view of the feu d’artifice was to be obtained,—for to witness this portion of the fete the people were admitted to the gardens indiscriminately; the royal guard, however, forming a sufficiently impregnable barrier to keep them from intruding too closely upon the presence of the monarch and his favourites.
Amongst the crowd was Jean Blacquart, who had escaped from the abbe, and having discovered Maître Picard, was pressing forward to obtain a front place, where his martial dress and gay ribbons could be seen to the best advantage, even at the risk of being pushed into the basin. Several of his old acquaintances were near him—bourgeoisie of the Quartier Latin, and students at the schools. Amongst these latter Philippe Glazer had mounted on to one of the urns, which stood on pedestals surrounding the basin, for the double purpose of obtaining a better view of the exhibition, and addressing, from time to time, those amongst the crowd whom he knew, and a great many more whom he did not; and as the court had not yet arrived, his verbal tournaments with such as he chose to joke with, or at, produced great mirth amongst the bystanders.
‘Maître Picard,’ cried Philippe, ‘take care of your feather; you are burning it against the lamp.’
The little bourgeois, who was below, turned hurriedly round, and took off his hat to look at it. Of course nothing was the matter. The people began to laugh.
‘Pardon, bourgeois,’ continued Philippe; ‘I mistook your red face for a flame, as it was reflected in your halberd. I forgot you had been used for a lamp yourself before now. Do you remember the “Lanterne” in the Rue Mouffetard? I’m afraid the rain almost put you out.’
‘Polisson!’ cried Maître Picard very angrily, as he recalled the adventure. ‘I shall trounce you and your graceless fellows yet. You will all come to the gallows.’
‘Of course we shall—the day you are hung,’ replied Glazer. ‘You may count upon our attendance.’
There was another burst of laughter from the bystanders, and Maître Picard waxed wrathful exceedingly. He turned the halberd upside down, and made a blow at Philippe with the long wooden handle of it. But the student, as he was perched upon the urn, caught up his sword in its scabbard, and warded off the blow, so that it was turned on one side, and the pikestaff descended with all its weight upon the head of Jean Blacquart, who was directly underneath, crushing his fine hat, and nearly sending him into the water.