The Son of Clemenceau | Page 6

end of Paris and Vienna. A
major in a crack heavy cavalry regiment, allowed for family reasons to
remain in the garrison after it had been removed elsewhere, he enjoyed
enviable esteem from his superiors and the hatred and dislike of all
others. Though inclined to court after the manner of the pillager who
has captured a city, his boisterous addresses pleased the wanton
matrons and, more naturally, the facile Cythereans of the music halls
and dance-houses.
At an early hour, he had cast his handkerchief, like an irresistible sultan,
at the chief attraction of the beer cellar, which he named--the so-called
"La Belle Stamboulane," and baffled in all his less brutal modes of
attack, he had recourse to one which better suited his custom.
It looked as though he had lost time in not putting it into operation
before, since the girl, around whom, taking one stride, he threw his
arms, could not, by her feeble resistance, prevent him snatching a kiss.
As for her father, casting down his turkophone, and raising his staff in
both hands, his valorous approach went for little, as his blow would
have been as likely to fall upon his daughter as the ruffian.

While he was bewildered and his stick was raised in air, the latter,
perceiving his danger, did not scruple to show his contempt for one of
the despised race whom he likewise scorned for his weakness, by
dealing him a kick in the leg with his heavy boot which, fairly
delivered, would have broken an oaken post. Though avoiding its full
force, the unhappy father was so painfully struck that he staggered back
to the opposite rail of the bridge and, clapping both hands to the bruise
on the shin, groaned while he strove in vain to overcome the paralyzing
agony. From that moment he was compelled to remain as a stranger in
action to the outrage.
Still struggling, though with little hope, the girl saw the defeat of her
natural champion with sympathetic anguish. Though he had not spied
the student, she had regarded him with no faint opinion of his
manliness for--repelling the kind of proud self-reliance of her race to
have no recourse to strangers during persecution--she lifted her voice
with a confidence which startled her rude adorer.
"Help! help from this ruffian-gentleman!"
"Silence, you fool," rejoined Sendlingen. "I tell you, the coast is
clear--for I have arranged all that. It is simple strategy to secure one's
flanks--"
"Help!" repeated the songstress, redoubling her efforts--not to escape,
which was out of the question, but to shield her mouth from contact
with the red moustaches, hovering over it like the wings of a
bloodstained bird of rapine.
As this repetition of the appeal, steps clattered on the bridge, and the
officer lifted his head. He may have expected Baboushka or one of her
fraternity, and the tall, slender student, who had flung off his cloak to
run more swiftly, gave him a surprise. The agile and intelligent girl
took the opportunity with commendable speed, and glided out of the
major's relaxing grasp like a wasp from under the spider's claws. She
retreated as far as where her father tried to stand erect, and helping him
up, led him prudently down the bridge slope so that they might
continue their flight. It would have been the basest ingratitude to depart

without seeing the result of the interference, and the two lingered,
though it would have been wiser to let the two Christians bite and tear
each other without witnesses of another creed, and with the witness of
none.
It was a free spectacle, but, if it had cost their week's salary at the
casino, it would have been worth the money.
As the major had empty hands after the loss of his prize, the student
had the quixotic delicacy to make the offer in dumbshow to lay aside
his cane and undertake to chastise the insulter of womanhood with the
naked fist. But this is a weapon almost unknown in the sword-bearing
class which Von Sendlingen adorned, and, infuriated by the civilian
intervening at the culmination of his daring plan, to say nothing of the
annoying thought that his failure would be no secret from the old hag,
his accomplice, looking on at the extremity of the bridge, he yielded to
the worst devil in his heart. He inclined to the most high-handed and
hectoring measure. Whipping out his sabre with a rapid gesture, and
merely muttering a discourteous and grudging: "Be on your guard!" he
dealt a cut at the student which threatened to cleave him in two.
The other was on the alert; he had suspected one capable of such an
outrage, likewise capable of worse, and he parried the coward's blow so
dexterously with his cane that it