This sudden onset upon a quiet observer of the game so surprised the other spectators that they fell back in open-mouthed amazement. However, the matter could not pass unexplained, and the tall stranger removed his mask, disclosing the handsome face of a man of middle age whose looks and bearing were all in his favor. He had used his left hand to undo his mask, but he was at once compelled to use both to hold the angry young soldier, who shouted aloud for assistance.
“Help me to escape these villains!” he cried, appealing to the amazed onlookers, who, however, did not budge, after the manner of people who will not singe their own fingers for another.
“Gentlemen,” said the cardplayer who had removed his mask, “this is my son—my poor, mad son who escaped from his keepers a fortnight since and—”
“You lie!” said Péron, fiercely, struggling so furiously that his two captors had to be reinforced by the other two players; “’tis a trick to seize and rob an innocent man. I never saw your face before!”
The other looked gravely concerned and shook his head with a melancholy air.
“He is ever thus in his paroxysms,” he said mournfully; “he is apparently sane, gentlemen, but fearfully and cunningly mad.”
“You are a villain, and had I my sword free I would thrust the lie down your throat,” said Péron. “I appeal to the inn-keeper, who saw me come here sane; I appeal to these men, who have seen me stand here quiet and sober. ’Tis a lie so monstrous that it is only absurd! No fool will believe you!”
But unhappily, though he said this aloud and stoutly, Péron saw that a doubt of his sanity was growing in the faces around him; he saw the first expressions of incredulity and amazement giving way to that terror which the ignorant and the timorous have of madness. He was held tightly by his captors, though he had ceased his struggles, fearing to increase their dread of his insanity; but he saw the circle widening as they drew away, as if he had some pestilence, and he saw, too, the triumph growing in the faces of the men who held him, and most of all in the eyes of him who still wore the mask. At this moment the head of the tavern-keeper appeared in the door, drawn by Péron’s outcry and the reports of some strange occurrence. These reports had attracted the curious and the idle, who were already filling both doors and windows. Péron appealed at once to his host.
“You know me,” he cried angrily; “you dealt with me, and know me to be sane. Call the watch and make these knaves unhand me, or I will make you pay dearly for this wild jest.”
But the tavern-keeper did not move, he only stared blankly at the tall man who had claimed Péron as his son. That personage spoke again with sad dignity of manner.