"That is my dog," exclaimed Gervais, who at the moment thought only of his claims to Medor; and the dog, by the expression of his joy, seemed anxious to confirm his words.
"'Tis false, you thief," replied La Mauricaude, with her customary amenity. "Medor!" she added; and, thus addressed, the dog turned his head, as if to prove that he recognized his name, as well as the voice by which it was pronounced. "You see very well that he knows me," she continued, with a volley of abuse and oaths, which we need not repeat.
"Nevertheless, the dog does not belong to you," said Gervais.
"Nor to you either, liar," &c. &c.
The dispute had been carried on in so vehement a tone, that it was impossible for Gervais to expose the truth of the matter. A third interest, that of the purchaser of the dog, already compromised by a considerable sum paid in advance, was here introduced, as a further complication of the affair, when an exclamation from a terrible voice announced the approach of Va-bon-train, who, having reached Saint Syphorien, and learning the cause of the quarrel, came forward to cut short all disputes. He made his way through the crowd, and had already his left hand on Medor, while his whip, raised in the other, menaced Gervais, who, drawing back with indignation, though still with respect, endeavoured to avoid the necessity of defending himself otherwise than by words. Nevertheless, had it not been for Medor's transports of joy, which somewhat embarrassed his master's movements, Va-bon-train would have been already upon him, and Gervais must have submitted to the cruel alternative of either failing in respect to his uncle, or of enduring an ignominious treatment, the bare idea of which was insupportable to him.
"He is a thief," exclaimed the perfidious Mauricaude, taking advantage of this opportunity to turn upon another the accusation which she herself merited. "He said the dog was his!" and several voices simultaneously repeated, "Yes, he did say so."
"You have been seen all along the road," continued Va-bon-train, "dragging him after you in spite of his resistance;" and a voice repeated, "I saw him." It was in vain that Gervais endeavoured to make himself heard,—the public opinion was against him. Assailed by a crowd of painful emotions, and distressed above all by the treatment he received from him whose gratitude he so much merited, he felt his courage forsake him, and could no longer restrain his tears, tears which only seemed to be an additional evidence against him. Several persons interposed between him and his uncle, but he himself no longer thought of safety; and whilst the efforts of Va-bon-train were redoubled, in order to get near him, notwithstanding the endeavours of the crowd to prevent it, Gervais was exhausting his, in demanding as a suppliant the justice due to his innocence. Michael, whom his father had pushed away from him, not knowing what to think of his friend, but deeply distressed at the sight of the misfortunes which overwhelmed him, and the danger which still threatened him, seemed to appeal to all around to intercede for a reconciliation which every moment appeared to render impossible. However, Heaven again came to the assistance of Gervais, by directing Master Blanchet to the spot. Attracted by the noise, he came out from the house of a friend with whom he had supped; and Michael, perceiving him, ran to meet him. The name of Medor, mingled in the almost unintelligible explanations given by the agitated Michael, led Blanchet to suppose that his young friend Gervais might have something to do in the matter; he therefore hastened his steps, and arrived at the very moment when, by an increased exertion of strength and anger, Va-bon-train, forcing his way through the crowd, was about to rush upon Gervais. Blanchet seized him by the shoulders, and pushed him backwards, saying, "Stop! stop! there's time enough for anger, but not always for explanation."
Less disposed than ever to profit by this good advice, Va-bon-train was, in all probability, upon the point of turning his rage against him who offered it, when a new incident arose to change once more the face of the affair. Matthew approached the scene of action, and Martin and Jacquot, under his guidance, were added to the spectators. Jacquot had not been deaf to certain words, which for several days past had struck his attentive ears. Encouraged probably by the noise, he began to repeat, though in a timid and uncertain tone, and as if he were saying a lesson, which he was not quite sure of knowing,—"Thomas, hide Scaramouche!"
—"Scaramouche!" repeated Michael, who had heard him; and now Jacquot, more sure of what he was about, went on, and constantly raising his voice in proportion as the noise around him increased, and excited him, his words at length reached the ears of Va-bon-train, who turned round; while Medor, taking advantage of his first moment of liberty, rushed upon Martin, and this time rummaging, without obstacle, in the bottom of the pannier, dragged out the unfortunate Scaramouche, who, all crippled and disordered as he was, still retained sufficient life to express by his attitudes the distress of his condition. Medor advanced and placed him triumphantly in the hands of his master; who, in his surprise and joy, knew not to which of his two friends to offer his first caresses. But Medor had not finished his task; and returning to the pannier, notwithstanding the efforts of La Mauricaude, who hastened to the defence of her booty, he drew from it the last of the Madras handkerchiefs, which she had preserved for her own use.