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Maitre Cornelius-Part6_Honore de Balzac(1799-1850)_Translated Works(翻译文学)-第2页

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rubbed his eyes.

"Mort-Dieu!" he cried, seizing his dagger, which was under the pillow.



"Now is the time to play our knives."

"Ho, ho!" cried Tristan, "that's the speech of a noble. Methinks I see



Georges d'Estouteville, the nephew of the grand master of the archers.

Hearing his real name uttered by Tristan, young d'Estouteville thought



less of himself than of the dangers his recognition would bring upon

his unfortunatemistress. To avert suspicion he cried out:--



"Ventre-Mahom! help, help to me, comrades!"

After that outcry, made by a man who was really in despair, the young



courtier gave a bound, dagger in hand, and reached the landing. But

the myrmidons of the grand provost were accustomed to such



proceedings. When Georges d'Estouteville reached the stairs they

seized him dexterously, not surprised by the vigorousthrust he made



at them with his dagger, the blade of which fortunately slipped on the

corselet of a guard; then, having disarmed him, they bound his hands,



and threw him on the pallet before their leader, who stood motionless

and thoughtful.



Tristan looked silently at the prisoner's hands, then he said to

Cornelius, pointing to them:--



"Those are not the hands of a beggar, nor of an apprentice. He is a

noble."



"Say a thief!" cried the torconnier. "My good Tristan, noble or serf,

he has ruined me, the villain! I want to see his feet warmed in your



pretty boots. He is, I don't doubt it, the leader of that gang of

devils, visible and invisible, who know all my secrets, open my locks,



rob me, murder me! They have grown rich out of me, Tristan. Ha! this

time we shall get back the treasure, for the fellow has the face of



the king of Egypt. I shall recover my dear rubies, and all the sums I

have lost; and our worthy king shall have his share in the harvest."



"Oh, our hiding-places are much more secure than yours!" said Georges,

smiling.



"Ha! the damned thief, he confesses!" cried the miser.

The grand provost was engaged in attentively examining Georges



d'Estouteville's clothes and the lock of the door.

"How did you get out those screws?"



Georges kept silence.

"Oh, very good, be silent if you choose. You will soon confess on the



holy rack," said Tristan.

"That's what I call business!" cried Cornelius.



"Take him off," said the grand provost to the guards.

Georges d'Estouteville asked permission to dress himself. On a sign



from their chief, the men put on his clothing with the clever rapidity

of a nurse who profits by the momentary tranquillity of her nursling.



An immense crowd cumbered the rue du Murier. The growls of the

populace kept increasing, and seemed the precursors of a riot. From



early morning the news of the robbery had spread through the town. On

all sides the "apprentice," said to be young and handsome, had



awakened public sympathy, and revived the hatred felt against

Cornelius; so that there was not a young man in the town, nor a young



woman with a fresh face and pretty feet to exhibit, who was not

determined to see the victim. When Georges issued from the house, led



by one of the provost's guard, who, after he had mounted his horse,

kept the strong leathern thong that bound the prisoner tightly twisted



round his arm, a horribleuproar arose. Whether the populace merely

wished to see this new victim, or whether it intended to rescue him,



certain it is that those behind pressed those in front upon the little

squad of cavalry posted around the Malemaison. At this moment,



Cornelius, aided by his sister, closed the door, and slammed the iron

shutters with the violence of panic terror. Tristan, who was not



accustomed to respect the populace of those days (inasmuch as they

were not yet the sovereign people), cared little for a probable riot.



"Push on! push on!" he said to his men.

At the voice of their leader the archers spurred their horses towards



the end of the street. The crowd, seeing one or two of their number

knocked down by the horses and trampled on, and some others pressed



against the sides of the horses and nearly suffocated, took the wiser

course of retreating to their homes.



"Make room for the king's justice!" cried Tristan. "What are you doing

here? Do you want to be hanged too? Go home, my friends, go home; your



dinner is getting burnt. Hey! my good woman, go and darn your




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