Quentin Durward | Page 9

frequented the road in those dangerous times with the action which
suited each. The strolling spearman, half soldier, half brigand,
measured the youth with his eye, as if balancing the prospect of booty
with the chance of desperate resistance; and read such indications of the

latter in the fearless glance of the passenger, that he changed his ruffian
purpose for a surly "Good morrow, comrade," which the young Scot
answered with as martial, though a less sullen tone. The wandering
pilgrim, or the begging friar, answered his reverent greeting with a
paternal benedicite [equivalent to the English expression, "Bless you."];
and the dark eyed peasant girl looked after him for many a step after
they had passed each other, and interchanged a laughing good morrow.
In short, there was an attraction about his whole appearance not easily
escaping attention, and which was derived from the combination of
fearless frankness and good humour, with sprightly looks and a
handsome face and person. It seemed, too, as if his whole demeanour
bespoke one who was entering on life with no apprehension of the evils
with which it is beset, and small means for struggling with its hardships,
except a lively spirit and a courageous disposition; and it is with such
tempers that youth most readily sympathizes, and for whom chiefly age
and experience feel affectionate and pitying interest.
The youth whom we have described had been long visible to the two
persons who loitered on the opposite side of the small river which
divided him from the park and the castle; but as he descended the
rugged bank to the water's edge, with the light step of a roe which visits
the fountain, the younger of the two said to the other, "It is our man -- it
is the Bohemian! If he attempts to cross the ford, he is a lost man -- the
water is up, and the ford impassable."
"Let him make that discovery himself, gossip [an intimate friend or
companion (obsolete)]," said the elder personage; "it may, perchance,
save a rope and break a proverb [refers to the old saw, 'Who is born to
be hanged will never be drowned.']."
"I judge him by the blue cap," said the other, "for I cannot see his face.
Hark, sir; he hallooes to know whether the water be deep."
"Nothing like experience in this world," answered the other, "let him
try."
The young man, in the meanwhile, receiving no hint to the contrary,
and taking the silence of those to whom he applied as an

encouragement to proceed, entered the stream without farther hesitation
than the delay necessary to take off his buskins. The elder person, at the
same moment, hallooed to him to beware, adding, in a lower tone, to
his companion, "Mortdieu -- gossip -- you have made another mistake
-- this is not the Bohemian chatterer."
But the intimation to the youth came too late. He either did not hear or
could not profit by it, being already in the deep stream. To one less
alert and practised in the exercise of swimming, death had been certain,
for the brook was both deep and strong.
"By Saint Anne! but he is a proper youth," said the elder man. "Run,
gossip, and help your blunder, by giving him aid, if thou canst. He
belongs to thine own troop -- if old saws speak truth, water will not
drown him."
Indeed, the young traveller swam so strongly, and buffeted the waves
so well, that, notwithstanding the strength of the current, he was carried
but a little way down from the ordinary landing place.
By this time the younger of the two strangers was hurrying down to the
shore to render assistance, while the other followed him at a graver
pace, saying to himself as he approached, "I knew water would never
drown that young fellow. -- By my halidome [originally something
regarded as sacred, as a relic; formerly much used in solemn oaths], he
is ashore, and grasps his pole! -- If I make not the more haste, he will
beat my gossip for the only charitable action which I ever saw him
perform, or attempt to perform, in the whole course of his life."
There was some reason to augur such a conclusion of the adventure, for
the bonny Scot had already accosted the younger Samaritan, who was
hastening to his assistance, with these ireful words: "Discourteous dog!
why did you not answer when I called to know if the passage was fit to
be attempted? May the foul fiend catch me, but I will teach you the
respect due to strangers on the next occasion."
This was accompanied with that significant flourish with his pole
which is called le moulinet, because the artist, holding it in the middle,

brandishes the