The above comedy was thrown in for their entertainment by bounteous fate.They heard the proposals made one after another, and uninventive Manon's invariable answer - "Serviteur; you are a day after the fair." The landlord chuckled and looked good-natured superiority at both his late advisers, with their traditional notions that men shun a woman "quae patuit," i.e.who has become the town talk.
But Denys scarce noticed the spouse's triumph over him, be was so occupied with his own over Gerard.At each municipal tender of undying affection, he turned almost purple with the effort it cost him not to roar with glee; and driving his elbow into the deep-meditating and much-puzzled pupil of antiquity, whispered, "Le peu que sont les hommes."The next morning Gerard was eager to start, but Denys was under a vow to see the murderers of the golden-haired girl executed.
Gerard respected his vow, but avoided his example.
He went to bid the cure farewell instead, and sought and received his blessing.About noon the travellers got clear of the town.
Just outside the south gate they passed the gallows; it had eight tenants: the skeleton of Manon's late wept, and now being fast forgotten, lover, and the bodies of those who had so nearly taken our travellers' lives.A hand was nailed to the beam.And hard by on a huge wheel was clawed the dead landlord, with every bone in his body broken to pieces.
Gerard averted his head and hurried by.Denys lingered, and crowed over his dead foes."Times are changed, my lads, since we two sat shaking in the cold awaiting you seven to come and cut our throats.""Fie, Denys! Death squares all reckonings.Prithee pass on without another word, if you prize my respect a groat."To this earnest remonstrance Denys yielded.He even said thoughtfully, "You have been better brought up than I."About three in the afternoon they reached a little town with the people buzzing in knots.The wolves, starved by the cold, had entered, and eaten two grown-up persons overnight, in the main street: so some were blaming the eaten - "None but fools or knaves are about after nightfall;" others the law for not protecting the town, and others the corporation for not enforcing what laws there were.
"Bah! this is nothing to us," said Denys, and was for resuming their march.
"Ay, but 'tis," remonstrated Gerard.
"What, are we the pair they ate?"
"No, but we may be the next pair."
"Ay, neighbour," said an ancient man, "'tis the town's fault for not obeying the ducal ordinance, which bids every shopkeeper light a lamp o'er his door at sunset, and burn it till sunrise.
On this Denys asked him somewhat derisively, "What made him fancy rush dips would scare away empty wolves? Why, mutton fat is all their joy.""'Tis not the fat, vain man, but the light.All ill things hate light; especially wolves and the imps that lurk, I ween, under their fur.Example; Paris city stands in a wood like, and the wolves do howl around it all night: yet of late years wolves come but little in the streets.For why, in that burgh the watchmen do thunder at each door that is dark, and make the weary wight rise and light.'Tis my son tells me.He is a great voyager, my son Nicholas."In further explanation he assured them that previously to that ordinance no city had been worse infested with wolves than Paris;a troop had boldly assaulted the town in 1420, and in 1438 they had eaten fourteen persons in a single month between Montmartre and the gate St.Antoine, and that not a winter month even, but September: and as for the dead, which nightly lay in the streets slain in midnight brawls, or assassinated, the wolves had used to devour them, and to grub up the fresh graves in the churchyards and tear out the bodies.
Here a thoughtful citizen suggested that probably the wolves had been bridled of late in Paris, not by candle-lights, but owing to the English having been driven out of the kingdom of France."For those English be very wolves themselves for fierceness and greediness.What marvel then that under their rule our neighbours of France should be wolf-eaten?" This logic was too suited to the time and place not to be received with acclamation.But the old man stood his ground."I grant ye those islanders are wolves; but two-legged ones, and little apt to favour their four-footed cousins.One greedy thing loveth it another? I trow not.By the same token, and this too I have from my boy Nicole, Sir Wolf dare not show his nose in London city; though 'tis smaller than Paris, and thick woods hard by the north wall, and therein great store of deer, and wild boars as rife as flies at midsummer.""Sir," said Gerard, "you seem conversant with wild beasts, prithee advise my comrade here and me: we would not waste time on the road, an if we may go forward to the next town with reasonable safety.'
"Young man, I trow 'twere an idle risk.It lacks but an hour of dusk, and you must pass nigh a wood where lurk some thousands of these half-starved vermin, rank cowards single; but in great bands bold as lions.Wherefore I rede you sojourn here the night; and journey on betimes.By the dawn the vermin will be tired out with roaring and rampaging; and mayhap will have filled their lank bellies with flesh of my good neighbours here, the unteachable fools."Gerard hoped not; and asked could he recommend them to a good inn.
"Humph! there is the 'Tete d'Or.' My grandaughter keeps it.She is a mijauree, but not so knavish as most hotel-keepers, and her house indifferent clean.""Hey, for the 'Tete d'Or,'" struck in Denys, decided by his ineradicable foible.
On the way to it, Gerard inquired of his companion what a "mijauree" was?
Denys laughed at his ignorance."Not know what a mijauree is? why all the world knows that.It is neither more nor less than a mijauree.
