It would have been an outrage to interfere then, so we stood ready for emergencies, while Gaston, with the assistance of the dogs, despatched the huge beast. The huntsmen were all on hand then, and when, at last, the great carcass fell over, they surrounded Gaston with shouts of delight. He was covered with blood, but had not a scratch on him. He could not explain how the boar got so close to him, except that he was listening to the dogs in the distance, and the first thing he knew he was looking down the boar’s throat. The next thing he remembered, was the plunging of his knife 402 into the beast’s throat, time after time. Like all truly brave men Gaston did not try to make out the accidents of good fortune as deliberately planned by him. But seldom have I, in war or sport, seen greater courage, address and strength than Gaston Cheverny showed on this occasion.
Count Saxe congratulated him warmly, reminding him of that other occasion when by his quickness he had passed himself off for Count Saxe, and so had earned for himself seven years of captivity, but had saved Count Saxe. Gaston received this and all our congratulations with becoming modesty. He turned away from our praises to give liberal drink-money to the huntsmen, who were delighted beyond reason at the killing of the old “solitary,” and that, too, without a man or a dog being injured. It was then determined to return to Chambord, whose distant towers glowed in the sun.
Gaston, as may be imagined, was in a very wretched condition. He washed off some of the blood in the little brook, threw away his handsome hunting coat, borrowed a jacket from one of the huntsmen, and we set off at a smart pace toward the castle.
From the moment I had noticed that Gaston Cheverny wielded his knife in his right hand, my mind had been in a whirl. That right hand and arm, so swift, so sure, so steady, so strong, was the one he had said was so weak, that he could not even guide a pen with it, nor play the guitar. Francezka’s parting warning had been to remember the infirmity of that arm—and then—
We rode along briskly the two leagues to the castle. 403 Gaston Cheverny was naturally elate, and even in the bravest of men, there is an exhilaration, a sort of intoxication at finding one’s self alive when the chance of death was very imminent. I fell behind all the party, and was rallied by Count Saxe on my taciturnity, and accused of jealousy of Gaston Cheverny’s prowess, but I let him have his joke.
When we reached the castle, we went to our rooms. Mine was the little one I speak of, next to Count Saxe’s bedchamber. When I was washing off by candle-light the stains of the chase—for it was then after dark—my master entered. He looked at me significantly, going through with Gaston’s motion of plunging the knife into the wild boar; he knew the story of that weakly arm. I looked back at him and shook my head; I could no more understand it than he.
We hastened down to the state supper in the great dining hall. The king was indisposed or lazy, so his Majesty did not appear, and I think the party was the gayer thereby. There was but one long table in the dining hall, and at it were seated above a hundred persons. I was near the foot, and Gaston Cheverny, in honor of his exploit, sat next Count Saxe. Francezka sat about midway the table, with a gallant on each side of her.
The aspect of happiness she had shown since the night before remained with her. She wore both powder and patches, and according to the fashion, there was a tinge of rouge upon her cheek. She was magnificently dressed in a pale green gown, the color of water-cress, embroidered in silver, and wore a splendid head-dress. I thought I had never seen her more truly the great 404 lady. She knew, of course, what Gaston’s adventure had been, but I suppose he had not given her all the particulars.
The supper was singularly merry, perhaps owing to the absence of the king. The singing at the table was entirely of hunting songs; the little rascals of pages took good care to keep Gaston’s glass filled—he was a great hero with them then. When it came time for the toasts, Count Saxe arose and after drinking to the king and the ladies, gave Gaston Cheverny’s health, together with an account, as only Maurice of Saxe could give it, of the exploit of the afternoon.
I knew not at the time if Count Saxe intended it, but he seemed to lay the greatest stress upon Gaston’s feat being performed with the right arm—as if any man could have done it with his left one. My master told me afterward, that it was quite involuntary with him mentioning Gaston Cheverny’s right arm, that he meant rather to avoid it, but, to his chagrin, the words kept coming up in his speech, he, all the while, feeling that it sounded foolish to mention that it was done with the right arm.