The dealer ran with all the speed of terror, and overtook Cecil, who was
going slowly onward to the barracks.
"Are you serious?" he asked in surprise at the large amount, as the
little Jew panted out apologies, entreaties, and protestations of his
only having been in jest, and of his fervently desiring to buy the
carvings at his own price, as he knew of a great collector in Paris to
whom he needed to send them.
"Serious! Indeed am I serious, M. le Caporal," pleaded the
curiosity-trader, turning his head in agonized fear to see if the
vivandiere's pistol was behind him. "The things will be worth a great
deal to me where I shall send them, and though they are but bagatelles,
what is Paris itself but one bagatelle? Pouf! They are all children
there--they will love the toys. Take the money, I pray you; take the
money!"
Cecil looked at him a moment; he saw the man was in earnest, and thought
but little of his repentance and trepidation, for the citizens were all
afraid of slighting or annoying a soldier.
"So be it. Thank you," he said, as he stretched out his hand and took
the coins, not without a keen pang of the old pride that would not
be wholly stilled, yet gladly for sake of the Chasseur dying yonder,
growing delirious and retching the blood off his lungs in want of one
touch of the ice, that was spoiled by the ton weight, to keep cool the
wines and the fish of M. le Marquis de Chateauroy. And he went onward
to spend the gold his sculpture had brought on some yellow figs and
some cool golden grapes, and some ice-chilled wines that should soothe a
little of the pangs of dissolution to his comrade.
Pages:
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396