THE MEMOIRS OF A PHYSICIAN (Complete Edition: Volumes 1-5). Alexandre DumasЧитать онлайн книгу.
luck!" said the man; "dashed if he be hurted—only swooned."
"With fright, I suppose."
"I'll drag him to the roadside, and let us go on, since your ladyship is in hot haste."
"I cannot possibly leave this poor boy in such a plight. So young, poor little thing! It is some truant scholar undertaking a journey beyond his powers. How pale he is—he will die. No, no! I will not abandon him. Put him inside, on the front seat."
The postboy obeyed the lady, who had already got in the berlin, as were called such carriages. Gilbert was put on a good cushion with his back supported by the padded sides.
"Away you go again," said the lady. "Ten minutes lost, for which you must make up, while I will pay you the more."
When Gilbert came to his senses he found himself in the coach, swept along by three posthorses. He was not a little surprised, too, to be almost in the lap of a young woman who attentively studied him.
She was not more than twenty-five. She had cheeks scorched by the southern sun, with a turn-up nose and gray eyes. A clear character of cunning and circumspection was given to her open and jovial countenance by the little mouth of delicate and fanciful design. Her arms, the finest in the world, were molded in violet velvet sleeves adorned with gilt buttons. Nearly the whole vehicle was filled up by the wavy folds of her large flower-patterned gray silk dress.
As the countenance was smiling and expressed interest, Gilbert stared for fear he was in a dream.
"Well, are you better, my little man?" asked she.
"Where am I?" counter-queried Gilbert, who had learned this phrase from novels, where alone it is used.
"In safety, my dear little fellow," replied the lady in a southern accent. "A while ago you ran great risk of being smashed under my carriage wheels. What happened you, to drop on the highroad right in the middle?"
"I swooned from having walked some eighteen leagues since four yesterday afternoon, or, rather, run."
"Whither are you bound?"
"To Versailles, lady. I come from Taverney, a castle between Pierrefitte and Bar-le-Duc."
"Did you not give yourself time to eat?"
"I had neither the time nor the means, for I lost a bit of money, and I soon ate the crusts I carried."
"Poor boy! but you might have asked for more bread."
"I am too proud, lady," said Gilbert, smiling loftily.
"Pride is all very well, but not when it lets one die of hunger."
"Death before disgrace!"
"Hello! where did you learn such talk?"
"Not at home, for I am an orphan. My name is Gilbert, and no more."
"Some by-blow of a country squire," thought the woman. "You are very young to roam the highway," she continued.
"I was not roaming," said the youth, who thought the truth would recommend him to a woman. "I was following a carriage."
"With your lady love in it? Dear me! there is a romance in your adventure?"
Gilbert was not enough his own master not to redden.
"What was the carriage, my little Cato?"
"One of the dauphiness' retinue."
"What, is she ahead of us?" exclaimed the woman. "Are they not making a fuss over her along the route?"
"They wanted to, but she pressed on after having talked of staying for rest at Taverney Castle, for a letter came from Versailles, they said, and she was off in three-quarters of an hour."
"A letter?"
"Brought by the Governor of Strasburg."
"Lord Stainville? Duke Choiseul's brother? The mischief! Whip on, postillion! faster, faster!"
The whip snapped and Gilbert felt the vehicle jump with more velocity.
"We may outstrip her if she stops for breakfast, or at night," meditated the woman. "Postillion, which is the next town of any account?"
"Vitry."
"Where do we change horses?"
"Vauclere."
"Go on; but tell me if you see a string of carriages on the main road. Poor child!" she continued, seeing how pale Gilbert was; "it is my fault for making him chatter when he is dying of hunger and thirst."
To make up for the lost time, she took out a traveling flask with a silver cap as stopper, into which she poured a cordial.
"Drink that and eat a cake," she said, "until you can have a substantial breakfast in an hour or two. Now, as you are a whit refreshed, tell me, if you have any trust in me, what interest you have in following the carriage belonging to the dauphiness' train?"
He related his story with much clearness.
"Cheer up," she said. "I congratulate you. But you must know that one cannot live on courage at Versailles or Paris."
"But one can by toil."
"That's so. But you have not the hands of a craftsman or laborer."
"I will work with my head."
"Yes, you appear rather knowing."
"I know I am ignorant," said Gilbert, recalling Socrates.
"You will make a good doctor, then, since a doctor is one who administers drugs of which he knows little into a body of which he knows less. In ten years I promise you my custom."
"I shall try to deserve the honor, lady," replied Gilbert.
The horses were changed without their having overtaken the royal party, which had stopped for the same and to breakfast at Vitry. The lady offered bounteously for the distance between to be covered, but the postillion dared not outstrip the princess—a crime for which he would be sent to prison for life.
"If I might suggest," observed Gilbert, "you could cut ahead by a by-road."
The vehicle therefore turned off to the right and came out on the main road at Chalons. The princess had breakfasted at Vitry, but was so tired that she was reposing, having ordered the horses to be ready to start again at three or four P. M. This so delighted the lady traveler that she paid the postboy lavishly and said to Gilbert:
"We shall have a feast at the next posting house."
But it was decreed that Gilbert should not dine there.
The change of horses was to be at Chaussee village. The most remarkable object here was a man who stood in the mid-road, as if on duty there. He looked along it and on a long-tailed barb which was hitched to a window shutter and neighed fretfully for its master to come out of the cottage.
At length the man knocked on the shutter, and called.
"I say, sir," he demanded of the man who showed his head at the window, "if you want to sell that horse, here is the customer."
"Not for sale," replied the peasant, banging the shutter to.
This did not satisfy the stranger, who was a lusty man of forty, tall and ruddy, with coarse hands in lace ruffles. He wore a laced cocked hat crosswise, like soldiers who want to scare rustics.
"You are not polite," he said, hammering on the shutter. "If you do not open, I shall smash in the blind."
The panel opened at this menace and the clown reappeared.
"Who does this Arab belong to?"
"A lady lodging here, who is very fond of it."
"Let me speak with her."
"Can't; she is sleeping."
"Ask her if she wants five hundred pistoles for the barb."
"That