"Ah! my friend!" he cried, throwing his arms around his neck. "Mario! where is Mario?"
"Saved!" said the coachman, "and I too, but not without difficulty! A glass of gin or brandy, quick! my teeth are chattering and I don't want to die, sacrebleu! I may still be good for something inside here!"
"What a state you are in, my poor friend!" said Adamas, dragging him away to the kitchen, where Clindor gave him something to drink; "where the devil have you come from?"
"Parbleu! from the pond," replied the coachman, who was covered with mud; "how else could I have got in? For a quarter of an hour I have been stamping about in the grass and the mud."
He tore his clothes into strips and planted himself in front of the fire, saying:
"Look, Adamas, and see if I am not losing too much blood, and stop it for me, old fellow, for I feel very weak!"
Adamas examined him; he had something like ten wounds and as many bruises.
"Numes célestes!" cried Adamas; "I don't see a single sound spot on your poor corpse!"
"Corpse yourself!" cried the coachman, tossing off another bumper. "Do you take me for a ghost? To be sure I have come back from a long distance; but I'm better now; my hide's as thick as my horses', thank God! Don't let me bleed, that's all I ask. It's a bad thing for a man to lose all the blood in his body."
Adamas washed him and dressed his wounds with marvellous skill.