a pity that the little imp, Gilbert, ran away. As he was brought up in their house, he might furnish particulars about the family," said the countess.
The dialogue was broken off by the movement of all the carriages.
After a night at Compiegne, the united courts—the sundown of one era, the sunburst of another—swept intermingled on to Paris, that gulf which was to swallow up the whole of them.
Chapter XXV.
Gilbert Snaps Golden Chains.
It is time to return to Gilbert.
Our little philosopher had cooled in his admiration for Chon since at the outbreak of the collision between Chevalier Jean and Philip of Taverney he had learnt the name of his protectress.
Often, at Taverney, when he was skulking and listening to the chat of the baron and his daughter, he had heard the old noble express himself plainly about the favorite Dubarry. His interested hatred had found a sympathetic echo in the boy's bosom; and Andrea never contradicted her father's abuse, for, it must be allowed, Lady Dubarry's name was deeply scorned in the country.
What completely ranked Gilbert on the side of the old noble was that Nicole had sometimes exclaimed:
"I wish I were Dubarry."
Chon was too busy after the duel to think about Gilbert, who forgot his bad impression as he entered the court capital in his frank admiration. He was still under the spell when he slept in the attic of the royal palace. The only matter in his dreams was that he, the poor boy, was lodged like the foremost noblemen of France, without his being a courtier or a lackey.
Gilbert was in one of the thinking fits common to him when events surpassed his will or comprehension, when he was told that Mademoiselle Chon wanted to see him. She was waiting in her carriage for him to accompany her on a ride. She sat in the front seat, with a large chest and a small dog. Gilbert and a steward named Cranche were to have the other places.
To preserve his position, Gilbert sat behind Chon, and the steward, without even thinking of objecting, sat behind the dog and box.
Like all who lived in Versailles, Chon drew a free breath with pleasure in quitting the grand palace for the woods and pastures, and said as she turned half round on their leaving the town:
"How does the philosopher like Versailles?"
"It is very fine. So we are quitting it so soon?"
"We are going to our place."
"Your place, you mean," grumbled Gilbert in the tone of a bear becoming tamed.
"I mean that I am going to introduce you to my sister, whom you must try to please, for she is hand and glove with all the great lords of the kingdom. By the way, Master Cranche, we must have a suit of clothes made for this young gentleman."
"The ordinary livery?" queried the man.
"Livery?" snarled Gilbert, giving the upper servant a fierce look.
"Oh, no; I will tell you the style after I communicate my notion to my sister. But it must be ready at the same time as Zamore's new clothes."
Gilbert was startled at this talk.
"Zamore is a little playfellow for you, the governor of the royal castle of Luciennes," explained Chon. "Make friends with him, as he is a good fellow, in spite of his color."
Gilbert was eager to know what color Zamore was, but he reflected that philosophers ought not to be reproved for inquisitiveness, and he contained himself.
"I will try," replied the youth with a smile which he thought full of dignity.
Luciennes was what had been described to him.
"So this is the pleasure house which has cost the country so dearly!" he mused.
Joyous dogs and eager servants came to greet the mistress' sister. Jeanne had not come, and Chon was glad to see her first of all.
"Sylvie," she said to a pretty girl who came to take the lap dog and the chest, "give Misapoof and the box to Cranche, and take my little philosopher to Zamore!"
The chambermaid did not know what kind of animal a philosopher was, but Chon's glance directed her to Gilbert, and she beckoned him to follow her. But for the tone of command which Chon had used, the youth would have taken Sylvie for other than a servant. She was dressed more like Andrea than Nicole. She gave Gilbert a smile, for the recommendation denoted that Chon had a fancy, if not affection for the new-comer.
Gilbert was rather daunted by the idea of appearing before so grand an official as a royal governor, but the words that Zamore was a good fellow reassured him. Friend of a viscount and a court lady already, he might face a governor.
"How the court is slandered!" he thought; "for it is easy to make friends among the courtiers. They are kind and hospitable."
In a noble Roman room, on cushions, with crossed legs, squatted Zamore, eating candies out a satin bag.
"Oh!" exclaimed the incipient philosopher, "what do you call this thing?"
"Me no ting—me gubbernor," blubbered Zamore.
Gilbert had never before seen a negro. The uneasy glance which he turned up to Sylvie caused that lively girl to burst into a peal of laughter.
Grave and motionless as an idol, Zamore kept on diving with his paw in the bag of sweetmeats and munching away.
At this moment the door opened to give admission to Steward Cranche and a tailor to take the measures of Gilbert.
"Do not pull him about too much," said the steward.
"Oh, I am done," said the knight of the thimble; "the costume of Sganarelle is a loose one, and we never bother about a fit."
"Oh, he will look fine as Sganarelle," said Sylvie. "And is he to have the high hat like Mother Goose's?"
Gilbert did not hear the reply, as he pushed aside the tailor and would not help any more preparations. He did not know that Sganarelle was a comic character in a popular play, but he saw that it was a ludicrous one, and he was enlightened further by Sylvie's laughter. She departed with tailor and steward, leaving him alone with the black boy, who continued to roll his eyes and devour the bonbons.
What riddles for the country boy! what dreads and pangs for the philosopher who guessed that his manly dignity was in as much danger in Luciennes as at Taverney.
Still he tried to talk to Zamore, but that interesting African, sitting astride of a chair on casters, made it run him round the room a dozen times with a celerity which ought to have shown by anticipation that the velocipede was a practical machine.
Suddenly a bell tinkled and Zamore darted out of the room with as much rapidity as he had shown on the novel quadricycle.
Gilbert
