My Neighbor Raymond Part 35

"We shall be there at ten; I must whip this infernal beast."

"Oh! I am beginning to be resigned; I am going to make the best of it."

"They are longing for us to come, I am sure!--Go on, you villain, go on!"

"Say rather that they have forgotten all about us."

"Oh! men like us aren't so easily forgotten.--Go on, you wretched nag!"

"Look out! you're whipping him too hard; he's running away now."

"Mon Dieu! that's so; he's got the bit in his teeth!"

"Hold him in! jerk the reins!"

"I can't hold him, my friend; I am pulling as hard as I can. Mon Dieu!

he's turning into the fields; we are lost!"

"Oh! don't be frightened; he'll stop.--Get down, boy, and see if you can stop him."

Our groom had already alighted, but he did not follow us, which made me think that he was hurt. Our steed galloped on, across fields and plowed lands and lanes. I took the reins from my companion, who was no longer in a condition to see anything, but trembled in every limb and shouted for help at the top of his voice. To put the finis.h.i.+ng touch to our misfortunes, the storm broke with great violence: the clouds burst, the rain fell in torrents, and the wind blew with hurricane force in our faces. Our horse did not stop; I began to apprehend some serious accident; we were on a very steep hillside, and I expected every moment to be overturned with the carriage. Luckily, our frantic animal's path was blocked by a ma.s.s of vines; he stopped short, but in struggling to extricate himself from the labyrinth of branches in which he was entangled he plunged about with such violence that he finally threw us out and fell with us.

"I am dead!" cried Raymond, as he fell. Before making sure of that fact, I tried to cut my way out of my prison, for the front of the cabriolet was blocked by vine poles. I succeeded at last in getting out. I was not hurt, not even a bruise. I thought myself very lucky to escape with nothing worse than a fright. Since it was written that I should not attend Madame de Marsan's entertainment, I made the best of it and decided to endure as philosophically as possible the further misadventures into which Raymond was sure to lead me. I went to inquire into my companion's condition. He was groaning pitifully; was he really hurt? If so, that would make our plight decidedly serious. I walked up to Raymond, who had fallen half out of the cabriolet, with his face against the ground. I shook his arm, and succeeded, not without difficulty, in making him raise his head. The rain had already formed pools, and the plowed earth had stuck to Raymond's face. He told me in a feeble voice that he could hardly see.

"That's nothing; turn your face toward the sky, and I'll answer for it that the rain will very soon wash off the mud that covers your eyes."

"You are right, my dear friend; I am well washed now, and I begin to see more distinctly. Ah! I breathe again!"

"Are you really hurt?"

"Wait till I feel myself; I'm sore all over, but I believe that I haven't any serious wound."

"That's very fortunate!"

"Ah! my friend! what a terrible accident!"

"Whose fault is it?"

"Look you--I lashed the horse, because you were in a hurry to get there."

"I advise you to put your crazy performances on my back!"

"Here we are in a pretty plight! and the rain coming down in sheets! It seems as if everything was in a conspiracy against us. Look! I even smashed my hat when I fell."

"Parbleu! what do I care for your hat!"

"Look you, perhaps you care for my head, which is entirely unprotected.

I am wet through, covered with mud, battered and crushed. What a cold I shall have! And my clothes! It was well worth while to dress! Open-work stockings; and see, there's my s.h.i.+rt frill on that pole. Mon Dieu! it wouldn't take much to knock me over!"

"Come, come, Raymond! d.a.m.nation! be a man! You're worse than a baby. We must get out of this somehow."

"Where's our groom?"

"I'm afraid the poor devil hurt himself when he jumped down, and I should be very much at a loss to know where to look for him."

"If we could raise the carriage!"

"But one wheel came off when it went over."

"The devil himself took a hand in the job."

"I'm afraid the horse has hurt himself on these poles.--This pleasure party is like to cost us dear, neighbor."

"Oh! you're very lucky to be able to take it so calmly! For my part, I am crushed and furious at the same time!"

"Come with me; let's try to find a house, some place of shelter at least; but let us notice carefully what direction we take. Are you coming?"

"Wait a minute, till I make a cap of my handkerchief, to protect me a little."

We left the vineyard. I was obliged to take Raymond by the arm to get him to move along; he was trembling so that he was afraid of falling at every step. We walked for some ten minutes, constantly floundering in holes filled with water, which it was too dark for us to see. I swore and Raymond whined, antic.i.p.ating an attack of pneumonia. At last we discovered a little cottage, and the light that shone through the windows indicated that the occupants were not in bed; for peasants are not in the habit of keeping candles lighted while they are asleep.

"We are saved!" cried Raymond; and he recovered the use of his legs to run toward the house. But I held him back, fearing that he would announce our presence in such a way as to prevent our being admitted. I myself knocked at the door of the cottage.

Peasants are rarely distrustful; the occupants of the cottage, being very poor, had no fear of thieves. They opened the door, and I saw a peasant woman in a large living room, surrounded by half a dozen children. I explained our mishap, while Raymond, who had already entered the room, peered into a great kettle to see what the peasants had for supper, then came back to me and informed me that we shouldn't find much of anything in that house.

"What can I do for you, messieurs?" said the peasant, as she watched Raymond prying into every corner.

"Are we far from Montmorency?"

"No; a fourth of a league at most."

"We don't know the roads about here; be good enough to let us have your biggest boy for a guide; we will pay you."

As I spoke, I gave the woman three francs, which instantly disposed her to make herself useful to us.

"That's easy enough," she said; "Julien, go with these gentlemen.--If you're tired, I can let you have some donkeys."

"We shall be very glad of them, for, first of all, we must find our groom, who must be somewhere in the neighborhood; and then we will try to rescue our horse, for he ought not to pa.s.s the night in the fields."

"Come, Julien, get the donkeys out of the stable.--I ought to tell you that there's no saddles for 'em."

"No matter; they will be very useful to us all the same."

The donkeys were produced, and I paid on the spot for their hire; I took a third one, for our groom, whom I hoped to find. Raymond hesitated a long while before mounting his beast; he wanted saddle, stirrups, and pads; he claimed to be able to ride like Franconi, but he could not sit on a donkey. Tired to death by all his lamentations, I started off with the young peasant, who rode the third donkey, and set out to find the groom. Raymond, seeing that I had ceased to listen to him, decided to follow me, clinging with one hand to the tail and with the other to the mane of his steed. He urged the poor beast along in my wake, and we were in the fields once more.

I let my donkey take his own course. I called the groom at the top of my lungs, and my companions did the same. At last someone answered us; we rode in the direction of the voice and found our young man lying on the ground, under a tree. The poor devil had sprained his foot and could not walk. I put him on the peasant's donkey. It only remained for us to unharness our horse, whom we found on the ground beside the cabriolet.

The rain had allayed the poor beast's ardor, and he finally allowed us to raise him to his feet. Our guide a.s.sured us that he was uninjured; he mounted him, took his place at our head, and the cavalcade set out for Montmorency.

All these details had taken time. It was after half-past eleven when we left our little carriage, which I commended to the young peasant's care; he promised to fetch a blacksmith to mend it at daybreak. We could have gone much faster but for Raymond; he compelled us to stop every few yards; his donkey refused to go, or else insisted on turning into another road; and he uttered heartrending cries when we did not wait for him. Luckily, the rain had ceased and it was a little less dark, so that we could see where we were going.