tell me, I pray, my lord, what had happened? I would question my wife, but as you see she is not yet able to answer.”
“And am I not here to answer in her stead?”
“Answer then, my lord, as you are kind enough to offer to do so; I am listening.”
The Baron made a gesture of assent, and went on:
“So I ran to her, and seeing her all trembling and alarmed, I asked, ‘What is the matter, Madame Magloire, and what is causing you so much alarm?’ ‘Ah! my lord,’ she replied, ‘just think what I feel, when I tell you that yesterday and to-day, my husband has been entertaining a man about whom I have the worst suspicions. Ugh! A man who has introduced himself under the pretence of friendship to my dear Magloire, and actually makes love to me, to me....’ ”
“She told you that?”
“Word for word, my dear fellow! She cannot hear what we are saying, I hope?”
“How can she, when she is insensible?”
“Well, ask her yourself when she comes to, and if she does not tell you exactly to the letter what I have been telling you, call me a Turk, an infidel and a heretic.”
“Ah! these men! these men!” murmured the Bailiff.
“Yes, race of vipers!” continued my lord of Vez, “do you wish me to go on?”
“Yes, indeed!” said the little man, forgetting the scantiness of his attire in the interest excited in him by the Baron’s tale.
“ ‘But Madame,’ I said to my friend Madame Magloire, ‘How could you tell that he had the audacity to love you?’ ”
“Yes,” put in the Bailiff, “how did she find it out? I never noticed anything myself.”
“You would have been aware of it, my dear friend, if only you had looked under the table; but, fond of your dinner as you are, you were not likely to be looking at the dishes on the table and underneath it at the same time.”
“The truth is, my lord, we had the most perfect little supper! just you think now—cutlets of young wild-boar....”
“Very well,” said the Baron, “now you are going to tell me about your supper, instead of listening to the end of my tale, a tale which concerns the life and honour of your wife!”
“True, true, my poor Suzanne! My lord, help me to open her hands, that I may slap them on the palms.”
The Lord of Vez gave all the assistance in his power to Monsieur Magloire, and by dint of their united efforts they forced open Madame Magloire’s hands.
The good man, now easier in his mind, began slapping his wife’s palms with his chubby little hands, all the while giving his attention to the remainder of the Baron’s interesting and veracious story.
“Where had I got to?” he asked.
“You had got just to where my poor Suzanne, whom one may indeed call ‘the chaste Suzanna....’ ”
“Yes, you may well say that!” interrupted the lord of Vez.
“Indeed, I do! You had just got to where my poor Suzanne began to be aware....”
“Ah, yes—that your guest like Paris of old was wishing to make another Menelaus of you; well, then she rose from table.... You remember that she did so?”
“No.... I was perhaps a little—just a little—overcome.”
“Quite so! Well then she rose from table, and said it was time to retire.”
“The truth is, that the last hour I heard strike was eleven,” said the jovial Bailiff.
“Then the party broke up.”
“I don’t think I left the table,” said the Bailiff.
“No, but Madame Magloire and your guest did. She told him which was his room, and Perrine showed him to it; after which, kind and faithful wife as she is, Madame Magloire tucked you into bed, and went into her own room.”
“Dear little Suzanne!” said the bailiff in a voice of emotion.
“And it was then, when she found herself in her room, and all alone, that she got frightened; she went to the window and opened it; the wind, blowing into the room, put out her candle. You know what it is to have a sudden panic come over you, do you not?”
“Oh! yes,” replied the Bailiff naïvely, “I am very timid myself.”
“After that she was seized with panic, and not daring to wake you, for fear any harm should come to you, she called to the first horseman she saw go by—and luckily, that horseman was myself.”
“It was indeed fortunate, my lord.”
“Was it not?... I ran, I made myself known.”
“ ‘Come up, my lord, come up,’ she cried. ‘Come up quickly—I am sure there is a man in my room.’ ”
“Dear! dear!...” said the bailiff, “you must indeed have felt terribly frightened.”
“Not at all! I thought it was only losing time to stop and ring; I gave my horse to l’Eveillé, I stood up on the saddle, climbed from that to the balcony, and, so that the man who was in the room might not escape, I shut the window. It was just at that moment that Madame Magloire, hearing the sound of your door opening, and overcome by such a succession of painful feelings, fell fainting into my arms.”
“Ah! my lord!” said the Bailiff, “how frightful all this is that you tell me.”
“And be sure, my dear friend, that I have rather softened than added to its terror; anyhow, you will hear what Madame Magloire has to tell you when she comes to....”
“See, my lord, she is beginning to move.”
“That’s right! burn a feather under her nose.”
“A feather?”
“Yes, it is a sovereign anti-spasmodic; burn a feather under her nose, and she will revive instantly.”
“But where shall I find a feather?” asked the bailiff.
“Here! take this, the feather round my hat.” And the lord of Vez broke off a bit of the ostrich feather which ornamented his hat, gave it to Monsieur Magloire, who lighted it at the candle and held it smoking under his wife’s nose.
The remedy was a sovereign one, as the Baron had said; the effect of it was instantaneous; Madame Magloire sneezed.
“Ah!” cried the bailiff delightedly, “now she is coming to! my wife! my dear wife! my dear little wife!”
Madame Magloire gave a sigh.
“My lord! my lord!” cried the bailiff, “she is saved! saved!”
Madame
