At this last jest Fario became as cool as though he were making a bargain.
“Damn it!” he said, “give me the wherewithal to replace my barrow, and it will be the best use you ever made of old Rouget’s money.”
Max turned livid; he raised his formidable fist to strike Fario; but Baruch, who knew that the blow would descend on others besides the Spaniard, plucked the latter away like a feather and whispered to Max,—
“Don’t commit such a folly!”
The grand master, thus called to order, began to laugh and said to Fario,—
“If I, by accident, broke your barrow, and you in return try to slander me, we are quits.”
“Not yet,” muttered Fario. “But I am glad to know what my barrow was worth.”
“Ah, Max, you’ve found your match!” said a spectator of the scene, who did not belong to the Order of Idleness.
“Adieu, Monsieur Gilet. I haven’t thanked you yet for lending me a hand,” cried the Spaniard, as he kicked the sides of his horse and disappeared amid loud hurrahs.
“We will keep the tires of the wheels for you,” shouted a wheelwright, who had come to inspect the damage done to the cart.