‘Mort bleu!’ he exclaimed, as under the weight of his accoutrements he with difficulty scrambled on to his legs. ‘Pouf! every bone in my body is broken. Sacristie!—miserable beast! how shall I get on you again?’
And he very angrily, but in great fear withal, proceeded to lift up the horse’s hoofs, and pick the snow out of them with his halberd, one after another; having accomplished which, he tried to tighten the girths.
‘I know the voice,’ said Philippe; ‘it is Maître Picard. I shall take his horse.’
Pulling his student’s cap over his eyes, and disguising his voice, Philippe left the hiding-place and advanced towards the hapless little bourgeois—for it was the chapelier of the Rue de la Harpe. Maître Picard had laid his halberd on the snow; and Philippe, seizing it before the other was aware of his approach, demanded his money, in the usual tone of a road-marauder.
The bourgeois’ first exclamation was one of surprise at the unexpected apparition; but immediately after he began to shout—
‘Aux voleurs!—help!—murder!—guard!’
‘Speak another word, and you shall swallow this halberd,’ said Philippe. ‘Give me your arms.’
With wonderful celerity Maître Picard proceeded to dispossess himself of all his accoutrements, begging earnestly that his life might be spared, for the sake of his wife and family.
‘You are a miserable liar,’ said Philippe gruffly, ‘and I have a mind to pin you to a tree.’ And collecting the arms, he added, ‘Now stay here an instant. Move at your peril until I return.’
He ran back to the cart, and bringing out the lantern, put it in Maître Picard’s hand.