The young gentlemen were embarrassed, for, although eager to fight and having little fear of their adversaries, they were afraid that in the scrimmage they might injure the pretty traveller and Ambroisine.
The latter, divining what held them back, took delight in defying all those fine cavaliers, who were in the habit of making love to her, and several of whom called out to her:
"Come away from there, belle baigneuse; that is no place for you!"
"You are in our way. Besides, you ought not to take sides against your customers!"
"I don't care a fig for customers! Let these travellers go their way, and I will agree to shave all of you."
This proposition seemed to make an impression on several of the young men; but the Sire de Jarnonville, irritated by all this discussion, drew his sword and strode toward the horse's head. With a few passes he soon sent the famous Roland flying through the air. Passedix, disarmed, called loudly for another weapon.
The Black Chevalier thereupon turned his attention to the dogwood staff, but he had not so simple a task as with the Gascon's sword.
At that moment, a young page, who had stolen forward to unseat Miretta, was confronted by Master Hugonnet; and he, having no other weapons than his basin and shaving brush, instantly covered the page with a thick coating of lather, filling his nose and mouth and even his eyes with it; whereupon the assailant began to shriek at the top of his voice. All eyes were turned in that direction. At sight of that face completely covered with lather, a roar of laughter burst from all who were present, friends and foes, combatants and lookers-on; it was as if they were trying to see who could laugh the loudest.
This incident suspended the combat for a moment. But the Sire de Jarnonville, who alone had taken no part in the general merriment, immediately renewed his attack on the peasant's staff. Whether because Cédrille's arm was tired, or because the sight of that gleaming weapon, whirling through the air and sometimes striking sparks, dazzled his eyes, he began to defend himself less vigorously. At last, a blow dealt with more force than usual broke the staff.
The peasant was beaten; the Black Chevalier's weapon was already on the point of forcing him to dismount, when Ambroisine, who had left her post a moment before, suddenly reappeared, carrying in her arms a little boy of three or four years; and darting in front of Jarnonville, she held the child out to him, crying: