Tempter he was—for, from the day he made his appearance, pale as to his face, and his arm in a sling, he never lost an opportunity of praising up the regiment camped not half-a-score of miles away, and depreciating the value of the castle.
But at no time did he so asperse the castle, the marquise, and all their surroundings, as on that terrible day when it was understood that at 6 P.M., the duke, the duke’s mother, the duke’s brother, and all the duke’s noble friends would come to assist at the signing of the marriage contract.
On that particular morning the sergeant was more indignant than ever; for, from the great drawing-room, where he had to sit, per command, he looked into an adjoining room, and saw the little vivandiere, who could trip you a measure so that you could hardly see her feet, the little vivandiere trying to slide through a solemn minuet and signally failing in the attempt.
For four mortal hours did the indignant sergeant mark this saltatory misery, and he was meditating an assault and crash upon the extorting dancing-master, when that unlucky professional withdrew, and Marie came running in to Sulpice.
“Oh, I could have slipped about no more, if I had died for it; like a dead march, only not so brisk.”
“Patience, patience, daughter.”
“Patience, indeed—how’s the arm by this time?”
“O! great deal better.”
“Well—I’m very glad to hear that—still you need not leave us directly.”
“What—what? A vivandiere counsel a sergeant of the grand army to desert!”