Her conduct seemed downright insolent to D'Alvimar, and he was on the verge of listening to the promptings of his capricious and violent temper.
Guillaume saw that such was the case, and, being apprehensive of some unpleasant outbreak, and of being obliged to take sides with the overbearing gentleman against the inoffensive canaille, he urged his horse between Sciarra and the little woman, motioned to her to stop, and said to her, half-laughing, half-serious:
"Would you deign to tell us, queen of the genesta and the heather, whether it is to put shame upon us or to do us honor that you follow us in this way, and whether we should be pleased or displeased at the ceremony with which you treat us?"
The Egyptian—these nomadic hordes of unknown origin were called Egyptians or Bohemians indifferently in those days—shook her head and motioned to the boy who had taken the stone from the child's hand.
He walked toward them, and, pointing to the silent woman, said, with an impudent manner, but in a wheedling tone, speaking French with no marked accent:
"Mercedes doesn't understand your lordships' language. I always speak for those of our people who can't make themselves understood."
"Ah! yes," said Guillaume, "you are the orator of the tribe; what is your name, Master Impertinent?"
"La Flèche, at your service. I have the honor to have been born a Frenchman, in the town of which I bear the name."
"The honor is on France's side, assuredly! Now, then, Master La Flèche, tell your comrades to let us go our way in peace. I have given you enough for a man who is travelling, and to make us swallow your dust is not the way to thank me for it. Adieu, and leave us, or, if you have some further request to make, do it quickly, for we are in a hurry."
La Flèche rapidly translated Guillaume's words to her whom he called Mercedes, and who seemed to be treated with peculiar deference by himself as well as by all the others.