Léodgard bent his head respectfully before the old man, who responded with a slight nod which indicated no great amount of confidence as yet.
When he was out of range of his father's eyes, Léodgard tore his hair, saying to himself:
"Not incur debts! why, I have no money!—But I must have some! For I promised Camilla that beautiful pearl necklace that she wants so much! Now that I no longer owe anything, I can easily borrow.—But that lettre de cachet!—Ah! I know my father; he did not threaten me heedlessly; he would have me put in the Bastille, and I have no desire to go to that horrible prison!"
VI
CHAUDOREILLE'S GODSON
Among the numerous habitués of the various bathing establishments might be noticed a tall, lean man, with a yellow complexion, like the description of the Knight of the Rueful Countenance. This personage had one of those elongated faces, with prominent cheek bones which call attention to the hollowness of the cheeks; also a long, pointed nose, a chin of the same type, an enormous mouth with a full complement of long teeth, each one of which resembled a tusk, and which terrified beyond words all the little children in whose presence this gentleman was pleased to smile; for he then appeared exactly as if he proposed to swallow the innocent creatures. A low forehead, yellow hair, and moustaches of the same color, the latter twisted at the ends so that they nearly joined the corners of the eyes—such was the Chevalier Passedix, who claimed to be Chaudoreille's godson.
We like to believe, dear reader, whichever your sex, that you have known a certain Barber of Paris, whose adventures made some noise long ago; in that case, you may not have forgotten entirely his friend the Chevalier Chaudoreille, that vain, cowardly Gascon, gambler and shameless liar, who boasted so loudly of his long sword, which he called Roland, and who came to such a tragic end, falling from a roof, and running himself through in his fall with his faithful Roland, which he held in his hand to feel his way along the slippery roof on which he was walking.
The Chevalier Passedix, then, claimed to be the godson of Chaudoreille, albeit the latter, in his negotiations with Touquet the barber, had never mentioned his godson. But there are many people who forget that they ever held a child over the baptismal font, or who do not choose to remember that they have been godparents, in order to evade the duties which that relation imposes on them.
However, Passedix, himself a Gascon, resembled his godfather in many respects; like him, he was a glutton, a gambler, and a liar; like him, he sighed for every woman who looked at him, believing himself to be a very attractive gallant, whereas he might fittingly have served as a scarecrow in a community of women.
But there was one respect in which the resemblance between him and his godfather had no existence. Chaudoreille was always a coward, his battles were mere bluster, and his very death was tragic only because he was fleeing over the roofs from an imaginary danger.
Passedix, on the contrary, was really brave; he would draw his sword on the most trivial pretext, would often take up the cudgels for a perfect stranger, and like Don Quixote, whom he resembled in his great height and his leanness, he would readily have fought against a windmill. But his courage was rarely fortunate, and whether because he handled Roland unskilfully,—for he possessed his godfather's famous rapier,—or because his excessive ardor made him imprudent, or because he was too sure of victory, the chevalier was almost always beaten; indeed, he was very lucky when he came off with a few scratches and was not nailed to his bed to await the healing of his wounds.