The snake, obsessed by its objective, did not perceive the fearless enemy behind it; springing forward in a flash Gaspard seized it naked-handed just below the horrible triangular head; seizing it four inches lower down with his left hand he almost twisted the head from the body, breaking the spine at the neck. Then he flung the remains on the ground and planted his heel on the head, crushing bone and demon brain, and burning eyes into the dust.
The next moment it seemed to him that the world had gone mad and was trying to smother him. The old man he had saved was clinging to his neck, the whole market was surging round him; men laughing, women weeping, and crying out to the Virgin. One might have thought Gaspard the bearer of the news of some national triumph, the saviour of the island—that is to say, if one were not acquainted with the Creole mind and its excitability. Then a ring was formed and he found himself in the centre of it, the old man—still with the umbrella over his head—holding his hand, shaking it, and talking at the same time.
“I am Monsieur Seguin, any of these good people here know me—” murmurs of assent from the crowd, “you have saved my life at the risk of your own, I am your friend. Ask what you will, I am not poor, my house is yours, and all I possess. My life is yours, for have you not saved it?”
“Nothing, nothing,” cried Gaspard, “I have done nothing. I am not afraid of snakes—” then with a touch of Tartarin in his tone, “They never bite me.”
They never bit him! He who had never handled one before—but the crowd knew nothing of this, they took it as a statement of fact. This man, then, was a prodigy, he handled the dreaded fer de lance as a poulterer handles a chicken. Before noon that fact had become the news of the day in St. Pierre, and Gaspard half a hero, half a wizard.
“All the same,” said old M. Seguin, “you have saved my life, monsieur, but I will thank you in another place than this—have you breakfasted? No? Well then, I pray of you come with me and accept of my hospitality.”
With his hand upon Gaspard’s arm he led him away through the crowd which divided before them, across the Place, across the Rivière Roxelane, into the Rue Victor Hugo.
Here at a café they breakfasted.
During the meal the old gentleman who had a strong and vivacious personality of his own, questioned his guest as to his past, present, and future. Though good-hearted, evidently, and evidently a power in St. Pierre, M. Seguin was not of the highest refinement. He shewed this in the manner in which he cross-questioned his vis-à-vis, for at once he had gauged Gaspard’s social position and his manner was that of an employer standing treat to an employée, but his every movement and every word, the tone of his voice and the kindness in his old eyes proclaimed the fact that he was a “straight man.”
Gaspard told of the wreck, and sketched his story till he came to the name of Sagesse.