One in a Thousand; or, The Days of Henri Quatre

by G. P. R. James

CHAPTER III.

The personage concerning whom the last sentences were spoken, and who now entered the hall, was not more than three feet six inches in height,[^[1]] but perfectly well formed in every respect, except that the head, as is very usual with persons of his unfortunate description, was somewhat too large for the size of the body it surmounted. His former lord had spoken of his ugliness; but although his face was certainly by no means handsome, yet there was nothing in it approaching deformity. Between "the human face divine" and that of the monkey, our great original, there are a thousand shades and varieties of feature; and the countenance of the dwarf, it must be admitted, was at the very far extreme of the chain, and at the end nearest the ape. A pair of sparkling black eyes, and two rows of very fine white teeth, however, rendered the rest of his features less disagreeable, but by no means diminished his resemblance to the animal. Whether from a consciousness of this likeness, and a desire to hide it as far as possible, or from a sort of conceited foppery not uncommon, the dress of this small man was as scrupulously elegant as the taste of that day would admit. His beard and mustachios, which were soft and silky, were most accurately trimmed. His hair, thrust back from his face, exposed his large and somewhat protuberant forehead; while his pourpoint, composed of deep blue cloth, was slashed with primrose silk, to favour a somewhat dingy complexion. Sword and dagger he wore at his girdle; and all the chronicles of those days bear witness that he well knew how to use--and to use fearlessly--the weapons intrusted to his small hands.

His whole appearance produced a strange and not pleasant effect upon those who saw him. The want of harmony between his size and his form was constantly forcing itself upon attention. Could one have magnified him, he would have appeared a very well-dressed cavalier, according to the fashions of the times; and, had there not been something in his whole form and air that bespoke manhood, one might have looked upon him as a smart child; but, as it was, one felt inclined to smile as soon as the eye fell upon him, though there was in his demeanour but few of those absurdities by which many of his class of beings render themselves ridiculous. He had neither strut nor swagger, smirk nor simper; and the only thing which in any degree tended to render his aspect peculiar, besides the fact of his diminutive form, was a certain cynical smile which ever hung more or less about his lips, as if, from a consciousness of superior talent or superior cunning, he scorned the race which, for their superior corporeal qualities, he hated; or rather, perhaps, as if he were ever prepared to encounter their contempt for his inferior size by contempt for their inferior acuteness.

He entered the hall with ease, if not with grace; but, perhaps, with more of what may be termed boldness than either. To St. Real, as his actual master, he bowed low, and to the Count d'Aubin still lower, accompanying the inclinations of his head, in this instance, with a keen and significant glance, which, had the Chevalier de St. Real been of a suspicious nature, might have made him place but little confidence in an attendant of his cousin's recommending. But he himself had nothing to conceal, and, as yet, feared not that any one should see his inmost thoughts; for he was one of those few men who know no other use for words than to express their feelings.

"Why did you blow the horn so loud, Bartholo?" demanded St. Real, "when you well knew that my father lies so ill?"

"I did it, noble sir," replied the dwarf, "lest the cooks, and the pages, and the concierge at the door should lose a jest and fit of laughter--rare things in the castle of St. Real. I knew full well that some one would cry out, 'Hear what a great sound can be made by a little body!' and it would be unjust to disappoint the poor fools in the offices, for fear of disturbing the rich gallants in the hall. But, by my faith, I had another reason, too, which is worth looking to. There was a traveller came with me, and an ass, and an ass's burden."

"Was it the surgeon for whom I sent you?" asked St. Real, eagerly; "the new surgeon from Tours?"

"Seeing that my eyes and the surgeon are innocent of all intercourse," replied the other, "I cannot tell you, noble sir, whether it be he or not. The man was not in his dwelling when I reached it, so I left my message, and rode further; and, as I came back, what should I see, half a mile hence, but the white feather of this man's hat waving in the dark night, and not knowing its way to the chateau of St. Real. I asked him what party he was of, whither he was going, and if he had passport or safe conduct. He answered, short enough, that he belonged to his own party, had no passport but his sword and his right hand, and was coming hither. So, whether he were surgeon or not, let those judge that are wise! I asked no further, but brought him hither, and left him in the green arras room, as he seemed no way dangerous, and wished to see either the Marquis or the Marquis's son in private."

"It is either a reitter seeking service, or a quack-salver seeking the sick," cried the Count d'Aubin. "Go to him--go to him quick, Huon! He will whip you the gold lace off the hangings, either for his pocket or his crucible. So go to him, and leave me the dwarf to jest withal."

With the quick and impatient step which anxiety produces in the young and active, St. Real bent his steps towards the chamber to which he had been directed by the dwarf, hoping, notwithstanding the description which had been given of the person who awaited him, that he might prove the surgeon who had been sent for in aid of the ordinary medical assistance attending upon his father.