The reitres being as ignorant as he of the attack precipitated by the gypsies, there was no risk that the marquis would learn it from another mouth than his when the proper moment should arrive.
But would that moment arrive? The present situation would have seemed desperate to an experienced person, and the marquis, who knew only a part of it, deemed it very serious. But Mario had the happy faith of childhood: he saw only half of the danger.
"If we escape from here, as I hope," he thought, "my father and I will have a hearty laugh at the figure we cut at this moment!"
[8]The reitres were still called lansquenets in France, although they no longer carried lances.
[LIII]
In truth, the poor marquis, disguised as a cook, was very laughable.
He had done the work conscientiously. He had taken off his wig and concealed his bare skull beneath an oilcloth cap shaped like a cake-mould.
His face, thus bereft of its ebon curls, and smeared with soot, was not recognizable; nor were his great white hands, which were stained to correspond with his face.
He had succeeded in hiding his fine white shirt under a countryman's smock, and was shod in shabby felt slippers; a coarse apron, thrown over the whole, covered his broadcloth breeches, which were not very magnificent, for he had attired himself very simply for the projected nocturnal expedition to Brilbault, which circumstance proved to be very fortunate in this emergency.
Being informed by Mario that Macabre seemed to be a stupid, vain-glorious clown, he realized that it was his cue to inspire confidence in him, and at the outset he saw that no flattery would be too rank for him to swallow.