When I had an hour's leisure I
used to escape from my stern toils to the oasis of my own thoughts in
the family at Sainte-Severe. At such a time I was wont to tell my kind
friend Arthur some of the comic incidents of my entry into life after
leaving Roche-Mauprat. At one time I would give him a description of
the costume in which I first appeared; at another I would describe
Mademoiselle Leblanc's contempt and loathing for my person, and her
recommendation to her friend Saint-Jean never to approach within arms'
length of me. As I thought of these amusing individuals, the face of
the solemn hidalgo, Marcasse, somehow arose in my memory, and I began
to give a faithful and detailed picture of the dress, and bearing, and
conversation of this enigmatic personage. Not that Marcasse was actually
as comic as he appeared to be in my imagination; but at twenty a man is
only a boy, especially when he is a soldier and has just escaped great
dangers, and so is filled with careless pride at the conquest of his own
life. Arthur would laugh right heartily as he listened to me, declaring
that he would give his whole collection of specimens for such a curious
animal as I had just described. The pleasure he derived from my childish
chatter increased my vivacity, and I do not know whether I should
have been able to resist the temptation to exaggerate my uncle's
peculiarities, when suddenly at a turn in our path we found ourselves
in the presence of a tall man, poorly dressed, and terribly haggard, who
was walking towards us with a serious pensive expression, and carrying
in his hand a long naked sword, the point of which was peacefully
lowered to the ground.
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