Christian paused, fearing to betray suspicions which it was more prudent to conceal.
“Out of my sight!” he said, “and go quickly; for if I discover that you are something worse than a drunkard, I will kill you on the spot! Go, and woe to you if you ever let me see you again!”
Puffo retreated in a great fright. Christian, to keep him at a distance, had laid his hand, purposely, on the major’s large Norwegian knife, and the sight of this terrible weapon was quite sufficient to alarm the Bohemian, whose great fear was that Christian would take his money from him, and insist upon knowing how he had obtained this unexplained wealth.
The Livornese left the donjon in a very undecided state of mind. Johan, who sometimes took the liberty of exceeding the baron’s secret instructions, had not given him this money with a precise understanding that he was to undertake what the trembling Puffo, in the language of the road, called a bad job; but to persuade him to remain quiet in case his master should be provoked, and drawn into some unequal scuffle. Johan had got everything out of him that he knew; he had learned, through him, that Christian was fiery and intrepid. Without compromising the baron, he had given him to understand that his master had offended some very powerful person at the chateau, and that they had discovered him to be a French spy, and a very mysterious and dangerous person. The lie, although glaring, was not sufficiently gross to have much effect upon Puffo, for he did not know or care anything about politics; but what he did understand was, the sum of money slipped into his pocket. He was intelligent enough to follow out the following course of reasoning: “If they pay me for standing by, they will pay me more for acting!” Accordingly, he resolved to get the start of any one else. He attacked Christian, supposing that he would be without weapons, or means of defence; but he lost courage, and, perhaps, also faltered a little in his wicked purpose. Christian was so good, that the scoundrel’s hand trembled, in spite of himself. Now that he was defeated and humiliated, what should he do?
While Puffo was reflecting to the best of his very limited ability, Christian, more depressed and fatigued in mind than in body, sat down to his coffee, and sank into a melancholy revery.
“What a sad life!” he said to himself, gazing mechanically upon the marionette lying upon the floor, which had come so near cutting his head open. “What poor company men without education are! And yet I shall have to be with them now more than ever! If I return to the dregs of the people, whence I probably emerged, after trying in vain to elevate my condition, I shall often be obliged, I suppose, to put down, by the force of my fist, brutal wretches like this Puffo, who cannot be influenced by kindness and affection. Oh, Jean Jacques! was it such a life as this that you dreamed of for your Emile? And yet you yourself were stoned in your humble chalet, and were forced to abandon the rustic life you loved, because you could not make yourself feared by those who were incapable of comprehending you!
“Come, let me see you! Which of you was it who came so near killing me just now?” he continued, raising his voice to revive his spirits, and picking up the marionette, which was lying with its face to the floor. “O Jupiter! you, my poor little Stentarello! you, my favorite, my protégé, my best servant! you, the oldest of my troupe, lost at Paris and found again so miraculously in the forests of Bohemia! No, it is impossible! you would not have harmed me; you would rather have turned against the assassin. You are worth much more than a host of gigantic marionettes I know of; stupid and wicked marionettes, who claim to belong to the human race, and whose hearts are as hard as their heads. Come, my little friend, put on a white collar, and let me brush your coat, which is covered with dust. I swear that I will never again abandon you! You shall travel with me, though it must be in secret, since otherwise serious people would laugh at us. But still you shall go, and when you feel sad and lonely, because you miss the blaze of the footlights, we two will talk together and console each other. I will confide my sorrows to you, and your sweet smile and bright eyes will recall to my mind the follies of the past; the dreams of love born and vanished within the gloomy walls of Stollborg!”
A child’s laugh made Christian start and turn round. It was Master Nils, who had come in on tip-toe, and who was jumping with joy and clapping his hands at the sight of the animated, and, as it were, living marionette, moving and gesticulating on Christian’s nimble fingers.
“Oh! give me that pretty little boy,” cried the delighted child; “lend him to me a moment, so that I can play with him!”
“No, no!” said Christian, who was in a hurry to arrange Stentarello’s toilet; “my little boy plays with no one but myself; and besides, there is no time. Is not M. Goefle coming back?”