“What?” he said. “Of my adventures by the way? I had one or two. Once a thunderstorm overtook me near a village. Some children, hurrying for the church, bade me come and help them ring the bells to keep the lightning off. I smiled the poor rogues away—cried, ‘I should attract it rather,’ and went on. The bells were already clapping behind me, when there came a flash and crash. The tower had been struck and every mother’s infant of them killed. The devil fends his own; or perhaps he is as blind as justice. Well, I stayed to see them put in the ground, and—I cried a little, Molly.”
“Cry now with me, darling. O, Cherry! the poor dears!”
“Another time I passed some peasants preparing to fill in an old well. A little whimper came out of its depths while I watched. ‘Only a cur, Monsieur, that has fallen in,’ they said. They were going to shovel the earth atop of him without a care. I asked them to lower me, and they did, and presently up we came together. He set his teeth in my hand, the little weasel; and I called him Belette for it. See the mark here. It was only because his leg was broken, and I hurt it. There was a bone-setter in the village, an old toothless Hecuba—a lady you’ve not heard of. She could mend bone, if she couldn’t graft it on her withered gums. Belette was made whole by her, and I waited out his cure. When he was done with, the rascal came along with me, eager to show that he had adopted me for ever. He’s thy rival for my love, Mollinda.”
“And I’ll kiss him for it, if that’s all.”
He did not answer immediately.
“Is it not all?” she urged; and, staring at him, sank away, sitting on her heels.
“No, it’s not all,” she whispered, gulping. “There’s more you’ve got to say. Don’t I understand. It’s the old lord has got a match for you, and I’m to go. Speak out, and be a man. Is he here? Did he come with you?”
“He’s dead.”
Cartouche rose, and went hurriedly up and down, a dozen times in silence, before he stopped and spoke to her again where she crouched upon the floor.
“He’s dead, and so my wages end.”