From the Memoirs of a Minister of France [21]
of surprise. "He is my servant."
"Ah!" the Mayor exclaimed, with a withering glance. "And who, may I ask, are you?"
"You may ask, certainly," the player answered drily. "But until you take off your hat I shall not answer."
The Mayor gasped at this rebuff, and turned, if it were possible, a shade redder; but he uncovered.
"Now I do not mind telling you," Pierre continued, with a mild dignity admirably assumed, "that I am Simon Grabot, and have the honour to be Mayor of Bottitort."
"You!"
"Yes, monsieur, I; though perhaps unworthy."
I looked to see an explosion, but the Mayor was too far gone. "Why, you swindling impostor," he said, with something that was almost admiration in his tone. "You are the very prince of cheats! The king of cozeners! But for all that, let me tell you, you have chosen the wrong ROLE this time. For I--I, sir, am the Mayor of Bottitort, the very man whose name you have taken!"
Pierre stared at him in composed silence, which his comrade was the first to break. "Is he mad?" he said in a low voice.
The grave man shook his head.
The Mayor heard and saw; and getting no other answer, began to tremble between passion and a natural, though ill-defined, misgiving, which the silent gaze of so large a party--for we all looked at him compassionately--was well calculated to produce. "Mad?" he cried. "No, but some one is, Sir," he continued, turning to La Font with a gesture in which appeal and impatience were curiously blended, "Do you know this man?"
"M. Grabot? Certainly," he answered, without blushing. "And have these ten years."
"And you say that he is M. Grabot?" the poor Mayor retorted, his jaw falling ludicrously.
"Certainly. Who should he be?"
The Mayor looked round him, sudden beads of sweat on his brow. "MON DIEU!" be cried. "You are all in it. Here, you, do you know this person?"
La Trape, to whom he addressed himself, shrugged his shoulders. "I should," he said. "The Mayor is pretty well known about here."
"The Mayor?"
"Ay."
"But I am the Mayor--I," Grabot answered eagerly, tapping himself on the breast in the most absurd manner. "Don't you know me, my friend?"
"I never saw you before, to my knowledge," the rascal answered contemptuously; "and I know this country pretty well. I should think that you have been crossing St. Brieuc's brook, and forgotten to say your--"
"Hush!" the stout player interposed with some sharpness. " Let him alone. LE BON DIEU knows that such a thing may happen to the best of us."
The Mayor clapped his hand to his head. "Sir," he said almost humbly, addressing the last speaker, "I seem to know your voice. Your name, if you please?"
"Fracasse," he answered pleasantly. "I am Mayor of Gol."
"You--Fracasse, Mayor of Gol?" Grabot exclaimed between rage and terror. "But Fracasse is a tall man. I know him as well as I know my brother."
The pseudo-Fracasse smiled, but did not contradict him.
The Mayor wiped the moisture from his brow. He had all the characteristics of an obstinate man; but if there is one thing which I have found in a long career more true than another, it is that no one can resist the statements of his fellows. So much, I verily believe, is this the case, that if ten men maintain black to be white, the eleventh will presently be brought into their opinion. Besides, the Mayor had a currish side. He looked piteously from one to another of us, his cheeks seemed to grow in a moment pale and flabby, and he was on the point of whimpering, when at the last moment he bethought him of his servant, and turned to him in a spurt of sudden thankfulness. "Why, Jehan, man, I had forgotten you," he said. "Are these men mad, or am I?"
But Jehan, a simple rustic, was in a state of ludicrous bewilderment. "Dol, master, I don't know," he stuttered, rubbing his head.
"But I am myself," the Mayor cried, in a most ridiculous tone of remonstrance.
"Dol, and I don't know," the man whimpered. "I do believe that there is a change in you. I never saw you look the like before.
"Ah!" the Mayor exclaimed, with a withering glance. "And who, may I ask, are you?"
"You may ask, certainly," the player answered drily. "But until you take off your hat I shall not answer."
The Mayor gasped at this rebuff, and turned, if it were possible, a shade redder; but he uncovered.
"Now I do not mind telling you," Pierre continued, with a mild dignity admirably assumed, "that I am Simon Grabot, and have the honour to be Mayor of Bottitort."
"You!"
"Yes, monsieur, I; though perhaps unworthy."
I looked to see an explosion, but the Mayor was too far gone. "Why, you swindling impostor," he said, with something that was almost admiration in his tone. "You are the very prince of cheats! The king of cozeners! But for all that, let me tell you, you have chosen the wrong ROLE this time. For I--I, sir, am the Mayor of Bottitort, the very man whose name you have taken!"
Pierre stared at him in composed silence, which his comrade was the first to break. "Is he mad?" he said in a low voice.
The grave man shook his head.
The Mayor heard and saw; and getting no other answer, began to tremble between passion and a natural, though ill-defined, misgiving, which the silent gaze of so large a party--for we all looked at him compassionately--was well calculated to produce. "Mad?" he cried. "No, but some one is, Sir," he continued, turning to La Font with a gesture in which appeal and impatience were curiously blended, "Do you know this man?"
"M. Grabot? Certainly," he answered, without blushing. "And have these ten years."
"And you say that he is M. Grabot?" the poor Mayor retorted, his jaw falling ludicrously.
"Certainly. Who should he be?"
The Mayor looked round him, sudden beads of sweat on his brow. "MON DIEU!" be cried. "You are all in it. Here, you, do you know this person?"
La Trape, to whom he addressed himself, shrugged his shoulders. "I should," he said. "The Mayor is pretty well known about here."
"The Mayor?"
"Ay."
"But I am the Mayor--I," Grabot answered eagerly, tapping himself on the breast in the most absurd manner. "Don't you know me, my friend?"
"I never saw you before, to my knowledge," the rascal answered contemptuously; "and I know this country pretty well. I should think that you have been crossing St. Brieuc's brook, and forgotten to say your--"
"Hush!" the stout player interposed with some sharpness. " Let him alone. LE BON DIEU knows that such a thing may happen to the best of us."
The Mayor clapped his hand to his head. "Sir," he said almost humbly, addressing the last speaker, "I seem to know your voice. Your name, if you please?"
"Fracasse," he answered pleasantly. "I am Mayor of Gol."
"You--Fracasse, Mayor of Gol?" Grabot exclaimed between rage and terror. "But Fracasse is a tall man. I know him as well as I know my brother."
The pseudo-Fracasse smiled, but did not contradict him.
The Mayor wiped the moisture from his brow. He had all the characteristics of an obstinate man; but if there is one thing which I have found in a long career more true than another, it is that no one can resist the statements of his fellows. So much, I verily believe, is this the case, that if ten men maintain black to be white, the eleventh will presently be brought into their opinion. Besides, the Mayor had a currish side. He looked piteously from one to another of us, his cheeks seemed to grow in a moment pale and flabby, and he was on the point of whimpering, when at the last moment he bethought him of his servant, and turned to him in a spurt of sudden thankfulness. "Why, Jehan, man, I had forgotten you," he said. "Are these men mad, or am I?"
But Jehan, a simple rustic, was in a state of ludicrous bewilderment. "Dol, master, I don't know," he stuttered, rubbing his head.
"But I am myself," the Mayor cried, in a most ridiculous tone of remonstrance.
"Dol, and I don't know," the man whimpered. "I do believe that there is a change in you. I never saw you look the like before.