The Knight of Malta

“Dame Dulceline is enchanted with him; she tells me that, thanks to him, she will have a magnificent cradle for Christmas. But you have heard him sing, my daughter, what do you think of it? Because I am a bad judge, I am not acquainted with any songs but those the abbé sings, and our old Provençal refrains. Is it true that this wanderer has a wonderful voice?”

Wishing to put an end to a conversation which, for many reasons, was painful to her, Reine replied to her father:

“No doubt, he sings very well. I have scarcely heard him. But if you wish to do so, father, we will take our promenade; it is two o’clock already, and the days are short.”

The baron descended, followed by his daughter. In passing through the court, he saw through the half-open door of the coach-house the ancient and heavy carriage he always used when he attended service in the parochial church of La Ciotat, at the solemn festivals of the year, although he had his own chapel at Maison-Forte.

Knowing the kind of antipathy which prevailed against him in the little city, the bold and obstinate old baron took the ingenious idea of braving public opinion by going to church next day with a certain pomp.

Reine’s astonishment was unspeakable when she heard her father order Laramée to have this, carriage ready next day at midday, the hour of high mass.

To every question of his daughter, the baron replied only by a persistent silence.

Now let us return to less important actors.

As she left the apartment of her mistress with Luquin, Stephanette had disdained to reply to the jealous suspicions of the captain, and had shut herself up in her dignity and her chamber. The windows of this chamber looked out into the court. The young girl saw through the windows the preparation of the old carriage, and, too, Luquin Trinquetaille, as he walked back and forth in a very agitated state of mind.

Was it curiosity to know what extraordinary event induced the baron to go out in this carriage, or was it a desire to obtain an interview with the captain? Whatever it was, Stephanette descended into the court She first addressed Master Laramée.

“Is monseigneur going out in this carriage?”

“All I know is, that monseigneur ordered me to have this old Noah’s ark ready. And, speaking of Noah’s ark,” added Laramée, with a sneering, satirical air, “if you have an olive-branch in your pretty little rose-coloured beak, you ought to bear it as a sign of peace to that Abrave captain you see there measuring the court with his long legs like he was possessed. They say that he is at open war with the Bohemian, and the olive-branch is a symbol of peace that would flatter the worthy Captain Luquin.”

“I did not ask you anything about that, Master Laramée,” said Stephanette, with a dry tone. “Where is monseigneur going in that carriage? Is it to-day or to-morrow that he wishes to use it?”

“To-morrow will be to-day, and after to-morrow will be to-morrow, mademoiselle,” bluntly replied the majordomo, offended by the imperious manner of Stephanette, and he added, between his teeth: “There is a dove transformed into a speckled magpie.”

During this conversation, Luquin Trinquetaille had approached Stephanette. The captain tried to assume a cold, dignified, and disdainful air.

“My dear little one,” said he, in a very careless tone, “do you not think flame colour a very pretty colour?” Stephanette turned her head, and, looking behind her, said to Luquin:

“Your dear little one? If you are talking to Jeannette, the laundress, that I see down there, you had better speak louder.”

“I am not speaking to Jeannette, do you understand?” cried Luquin, losing patience. “Jeannette, laundress as she is, would not have the boldness, the effrontery, to give a ribbon to a vagabond Bohemian.”

“Ah, that is it, is it?” said the mischievous girl. “Really, this ribbon has the same effect on you, that a scarlet streamer has on a bull from Camargne.”

“If I were a bull from Camargue, with double horns, this vagabond would feel the point of them. But no matter, this miscreant shall pay for his insolence; may I die, if I do not cut off his ears and nail them to the mast of my tartan!”

“It is his tongue, rather, that you ought to be jealous of, my poor Luquin, for never a troubadour of the good King René sang more sweetly.”

“I will tear out his tongue, then, – a hundred thousand devils!”

“Come, do not do anything absurd, Luquin. The Bohemian is as courageous and expert as a gendarme.” “Many thanks for your pity, mademoiselle, but I do not fight with dogs, I beat them.”

“Yes, but sometimes the dog has good teeth which bite very hard, I warn you.”

“Curse me, if you are not the most diabolical creature I ever knew!” cried Trinquetaille. “I believe, by St. Elmo, my patron, that if I were to fight to-morrow in camp with this copper face, you would say: ‘Our Lady for the Bohemian!’”

“Without doubt, I would say it.”

“You would say it?”

“Why, yes. Ought I not to take the part of the weak against the strong, – the small against the great? Ought I not at least to encourage the poor man who would dare challenge the formidable, unconquerable arm of the captain of The Holy Terror to the Moors?”

“Holy Cross! you are jesting, Stephanette, and I have no desire for it now.”

“That is very evident.”

“Where is this good-for-nothing fellow, this vagabond?”

“Do you wish me to go at once and find out? No inquiry would be more agreeable to me.”

“This is too much, you are making sport of me. Ah, well, good-bye! All is over, you understand, all is over between us.”

Stephanette shrugged her shoulders, and said, “Why do you talk nonsense like that?”

“What, nonsense?”

“Without a doubt, mere imagination and pretence.”

“Pretence! Ah, you think so? Pretence! Ah, well, you will see. Do not think you can take me with your cajoleries. I know them, – crocodile tears.”

“Do not say that, Luquin. I am going to force you to get on your knees before me and ask my pardon for your stupid jealousy.”

“I, on my knees! I, ask your pardon! Ah, that would be pretty! Ah, ah, I on my knees before you!” “On both knees, if you please.”

“Ah, ah, the idea is a pleasant one, on my word!”

“Come, come, this very instant, – here, on this spot.”

“Mademoiselle, you are crazy.”

“M. Luquin, in your own interest, do it now, I pray you.”

“Fiddlesticks!”

“Take care.”

“Ta, la, la, la, la,” said the captain, singing between his teeth, and keeping time by rising on his toes and falling back on his heels.

“Once, twice, will you get on your knees and ask my pardon for your stupid jealousy?”

“I would rather, you can understand, strangle myself with my own hands.”

“Luquin, you know that when I wish a thing, I wish it. If you refuse what I ask, I will be the one to say good-bye to you. And I will not come back, either, remember that.”

“Go, go; perhaps you will meet the Bohemian on the way.”