Two or three times during his desperate combat with the reitres, he had fancied that he saw his child's face hovering about him in the twilight.
"Ah! at last, Aristandre!" he exclaimed, as he spied the coachman on horseback by his side; "have you seen my son? Answer me quickly!"
Aristandre stammered some incoherent words. His great face was drawn by fatigue and confused by inexplicable embarrassment.
The marquis turned as pale as death.
Adamas, who was gazing at him ecstatically, soon perceived his suffering.
"No, no, monsieur!" he said, as Mario jumped into his arms from Squilindre's back, where he had been hiding behind the coachman's bulky figure. "Here he is as fresh and sound as a rose from the Lignon!"
"What were you doing there behind the coachman, monsieur le comte?" said the marquis after embracing his heir.
"Alas! my kind master, forgive me," said Aristandre, who also had dismounted. "When I went to the stable to get Squilindre to carry me against those devils of German horses, I just locked Coquet up so that monsieur le comte could not ride him; for I had seen your demon—forgive me! your darling son prowling around there, and I suspected that he meant to run into danger. But, just as I was in the thick of the fight, I felt something against my side! I didn't pay much attention to it at first, it was so light! But lo and behold, I found I had four arms: two long ones and two short ones. With the two long ones I managed my horse and struck down the enemy; with the two short ones, I reloaded my pistols, and handled my pike so quickly that I did the work of two men. What would you have had me do? I was in a scrimmage where it wouldn't have been a good thing for my little double to put him down on the ground, so I kept on and came out of it whole, thank God! after thrashing the enemy soundly, and riding down more than one villain who wanted your life, which God preserve, monsieur le marquis! with this brave old coach horse, who is an excellent war-horse at need, monsieur! If I did wrong, punish me; but don't blame monsieur le comte; for, by the name of—, he's a fine little—, who pounded those—Germans like a—, and who will soon be a—, like you, master!"
"Enough, enough flattery, my good fellow," rejoined Bois-Doré, pressing the coachman's hand. "If you must teach your young master to disobey, at all events do not teach him to swear like a heathen."
"Did I disobey you, father?" said Mario; "you forbade me to attack the gypsies, but you didn't say anything about the reitres."