Morok started; his arms fell powerless by his side. Jacques was struck with the lion-tamer’s paleness and troubled countenance.
“The Englishman!—you have seen him?” cried Morok, addressing Goliath. “You are quite sure?”
“Quite sure. I was looking through the peep-hole in the curtain; I saw him in one of the stage-boxes—he wishes to see things close; he’s easy to recognize, with his pointed forehead, big nose, and goggle eyes.”
Morok shuddered again; usually fierce and unmoved, he appeared to be more and more agitated, and so alarmed, that Jacques said to him: “Who is this Englishman?”
“He has followed me from Strasburg, where he fell in with me,” said Morok, with visible dejection. “He travelled with his own horses, by short stages, as I did; stopping where I stopped, so as never to miss one of my exhibitions. But two days before I arrived at Paris, he left me—I thought I was rid of him,” said Morok, with a sigh.
“Rid of him!—how you talk!” replied Jacques, surprised; “such a good customer, such an admirer!”
“Aye!” said Morok, becoming more and more agitated; “this wretch has wagered an enormous sum, that I will be devoured in his presence, during one of my performances: he hopes to win his wager—that is why he follows me about.”
Sleepinbuff found the John Bull’s idea so amusingly eccentric, that, for the first time since a very long period, he burst into a peal of hearty laughter. Morok, pale with rage, rushed towards him with so menacing an air, that Goliath was obliged to interpose.
“Come, come,” said Jacques, “don’t be angry; if it is serious, I will not laugh any more.”
Morok was appeased, and said to Sleepinbuff in a hoarse voice: “Do you think me a coward?”