Jérôme replied from the top of the diligence, confirming these words.
With an instinctive movement to put herself between the danger and her son, Madame de Montrevel, while complying with that request, pushed Edouard behind her. That instant sufficed for the boy to seize the conductor’s pistols.
The young man with the laughing voice assisted Madame de Montrevel from the coach with the greatest care, then signed to one of his companions to give her an arm, and returned to the coach.
But at that instant a double report was heard. Edouard had fired a pistol with each hand at the Companion of Jehu, who disappeared in the smoke.
Madame de Montrevel screamed, and fainted away. Various cries, expressive of diverse sentiments, echoed that of the mother.
From the interior came one of terror; they had all agreed to offer no resistance, and now some one had resisted. From the three young men came a cry of surprise—it was the first time such a thing had happened.
They rushed to their companion, expecting to find him reduced to pulp; but they found him safe and sound, laughing heartily, while the conductor, with clasped hands, was exclaiming: “Monsieur, I swear there were no balls; monsieur, I protest, they were only charged with powder.”
“The deuce,” said the young man, “don’t I see that? But the intention was good, wasn’t it, my little Edouard?” Then, turning to his companions, he added: “Confess, gentlemen, that he is a fine boy—a true son of his father, and brother of his brother. Bravo, Edouard! you’ll make a man some day!”
Taking the boy in his arms, he kissed him, in spite of his struggles, on both cheeks.
Edouard fought like a demon, thinking no doubt that it was very humiliating to be embraced by a man at whom he had just fired two pistols.