During the evening she received across the bar eight offers of marriage, some of them from respectable burghers. Now the landlord and our two friends had in perfect innocence ensconced themselves behind a screen, to drink at their ease the new couple's health. The above comedy was thrown in for their entertainment by bounteous fate. They heard the proposals made one after another, and uninventive Manon's invariable answer—“Serviteur; you are a day after the fair.” The landlord chuckled and looked good-natured superiority at both his late advisers, with their traditional notions that men shun a woman “quae patuit,” i.e. who has become the town talk.
But Denys scarce noticed the spouse's triumph over him, he was so occupied with his own over Gerard. At each municipal tender of undying affection, he turned almost purple with the effort it cost him not to roar with glee; and driving his elbow into the deep-meditating and much-puzzled pupil of antiquity, whispered, “Le peu que sont les hommes.”
The next morning Gerard was eager to start, but Denys was under a vow to see the murderers of the golden-haired girl executed.
Gerard respected his vow, but avoided his example.
He went to bid the cure farewell instead, and sought and received his blessing. About noon the travellers got clear of the town. Just outside the south gate they passed the gallows; it had eight tenants: the skeleton of Manon's late wept, and now being fast forgotten, lover, and the bodies of those who had so nearly taken our travellers' lives. A hand was nailed to the beam. And hard by on a huge wheel was clawed the dead landlord, with every bone in his body broken to pieces.
Gerard averted his head and hurried by. Denys lingered, and crowed over his dead foes. “Times are changed, my lads, since we two sat shaking in the cold awaiting you seven to come and cut our throats.”
“Fie, Denys! Death squares all reckonings. Prithee pass on without another word, if you prize my respect a groat.”
To this earnest remonstrance Denys yielded. He even said thoughtfully, “You have been better brought up than I.”
About three in the afternoon they reached a little town with the people buzzing in knots. The wolves, starved by the cold, had entered, and eaten two grown-up persons overnight, in the main street: so some were blaming the eaten—“None but fools or knaves are about after nightfall;” others the law for not protecting the town, and others the corporation for not enforcing what laws there were.
“Bah! this is nothing to us,” said Denys, and was for resuming their march.