The Man in Black | Page 3

interjected Crafty Eyes, with a savage glance.
"My rights," the boy whispered, lowering his head.
The drum man came forward briskly. "Just so, ladies and gentlemen,"
he cried with wonderful glibness. "And seldom as it is that you have
before you the representative of one of our most noble and ancient
families a-begging your help, seldom as that remarkable, lamentable,
and veritable sight is to be seen in Fecamp, sure I am that you will
respond willingly, generously, and to the point, my lord, ladies and
gentlemen!" And with this, and a far grander air than when it had been
merely an affair of a boy and an ape, the knave carried round his ladle,
doffing his cap to each who contributed, and saying politely, "The
Sieur de Bault thanks you, sir. The Sieur de Bault is your servant,
madam."
There was something so novel in the whole business, something so odd
and inexplicably touching in the boy's words and manner, that with all
the appearance of a barefaced trick, appealing only to the most ignorant,
the thing wrought on the crowd: as doubtless it had wrought on a
hundred crowds before. The first man to whom the ladle came grinned
sheepishly and gave against his will; and his fellows throughout
maintained a position of reserve, shrugging their shoulders and looking
wisdom. But a dozen women became believers at once, and despite the
blare and flare of rival dragons and Moriscoes and the surrounding din
and hubbub, the ladle came back full of deniers and sous.
The showman was counting his gains into his pouch, when a silver

franc spun through the air and fell at his feet, and at the same time a
harsh voice cried, "Here, you, sirrah! A word with you."
Master Crafty Eyes looked up, and doffing his cap humbly--for the
voice was a voice of authority--went cringing to the speaker. This was
an elderly man, well mounted, who had reined up his horse on the
skirts of the crowd as the boy began his harangue. He had a plain
soldier's face, with grey moustachios and a small, pointed grey beard,
and he seemed to be a person of rank on his way out of the town; for he
had two or three armed servants behind him, of whom one carried a
valise on his crupper.
"What is your will, noble sir?" the showman whined, standing
bare-headed at his stirrup and looking up at him.
"Who taught the lad that rubbish?" the horseman asked sternly.
"No one, my lord. It is the truth."
"Then bring him here, liar!" was the answer.
The showman obeyed, not very willingly, dragging the boy off the
stool, and jerking him through the crowd. The stranger looked down at
the child for a moment in silence. Then he said sharply, "Hark ye, tell
me the truth, boy. What is your name?"
The lad stood straight up, and answered without hesitation, "Jehan de
Bault."
"Of nowhere in the County of No Name," the stranger gibed gravely.
"Of a noble and puissant family--and the rest. All that is true, I
suppose?"
A flicker as of hope gleamed in the boy's eyes. His cheek reddened. He
raised his hand to the horse's shoulder, and answered in a voice which
trembled a little, "It is true."
"Where is Bault?" the stranger asked grimly.

The lad looked puzzled and disappointed. His lip trembled, his color
fled again. He glanced here and there, and finally shook his head. "I do
not know," he said faintly.
"Nor do I," the horseman replied, striking his long brown boot with his
riding-switch to give emphasis to the words, and looking sternly round.
"Nor do I. And what is more, you may take it from me that there is no
family of that name in France! And once more you may take this from
me too. I am the Vicomte de Bresly, and I have a government in
Guienne. Play this game in my county, and I will have you both
whipped for common cheats, and you, Master Drummer, branded as
well! Bear it in mind, sirrah; and when you perform, give Perigord a
wide berth. That is all."
He struck his horse at the last word, and rode off; sitting, like an old
soldier, so straight in his saddle that he did not see what happened
behind him, or that the boy sprang forward with a hasty cry, and would,
but for the showman's grasp, have followed him. He rode away,
unheeding and without looking back; and the boy, after a brief
passionate struggle with his master, collapsed.
"You limb!" the man with the drum cried, as he shook him. "What bee
has stung you? You won't be quiet, eh? Then take that! and that!" and
he struck the child brutally in