THE ESSENTIAL GEORGE BERNARD SHAW COLLECTION. GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

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СКАЧАТЬ woman. with an insolent snap of her fingers, made a perfunctory translation of as much of the Englishman’s words as she understood.

      “Look, you, little one, said the Frenchman, advancing to within a certain distance of his adversary, “the night air is not right for you. I would counsel you to go home and put yourself to bed, lest I should have to give your nurse the trouble of carrying you thither.”

      “You advise me to go to bed, do you? I’ll let you see all about that.” retorted the young man, posing himself clumsily in attitude of an English pugilist, and breathing scorn at his opponent. Anatole instantly dealt him a kick beneath the nose which made him stagger. The pain of it was so intolerable that he raised his right hand to his mouth. The moment he thus uncovered his body, the Frenchman turned swiftly, and, looking back at his adversary over his shoulder, lashed out his toe with the vigor of a colt, and sent it into the pit of the young man’s stomach, flinging him into the roadway, supine, gasping, and all but insensible.

      “Ha!” said Anatole, panting after this double feat. “Prrr’lotte! So much for thy English boxer, Nata.”

      “Cre’matin! What a devil thou art, Anatole. Come, let us save ourselves.”

      A minute later the street was again as quiet, and, except for the motionless body on the roadway, solitary as before. Presently a vehicle entered from a side street. It was a close carriage like an English brougham, and contained one passenger, a lady with a white woolen shawl wrapped about her head, and an opera cloak over her rich dress. She was leaning back in a deep reverie when the horse stopped so suddenly that she was thrown forward; and the coachman uttered a warning cry. Recovering herself, she looked out of the window, and, saw, with a sickening sensation, a man stagger out on his hands and knees from between the horse’s feet, and then roll over on his back with a long groaning sigh.

      “My God!” exclaimed the lady, hastily opening the carriage door, and alighting. “Bring me one of the lamps. It is a young gentleman. Pray God he be not dead.”

      The coachman reluctantly descended from his box, and approached with a lamp. The lady looked at him impatiently, expecting him to lift the insensible stranger; but he only looked down dubiously at him, and kept aloof.

      “Can you not rouse him, or help him to stand up?” she said indignantly.

      “I am not such a fool as that,” said the man. “Better not meddle with him. It is an affair for the police.”

      The lady pouted scornfully and stooped over the sufferer, who lifted his eyes feebly. Seeing her face, he opened his eyes widely and quickly, looking up at her with wonder, and raising his hand appealingly. She caught it without hesitation, and said anxiously:

      “You are better now, monsieur, are you not? I hope you are not seriously hurt.”

      “Wha’s matter?” said the young man indistinctly. “Are you hurt?” she repeated in English.

      “Nor’at all,” he replied, with drunken joviality.

      Then he attempted to laugh, but immediately winced, and after a flew plunges, staggered to his feet. The coach man recoiled, but the lady did not move.

      “Where is he,” he continued, looking round. “Yah! You’ll kick, will you? Come out, you coward. Come out and shew yourself. Yah! Kick, then run away and hide! I’ll slog the kicking out of you. Will you face me with your fists like a man?” He uttered the last sentence with an accession of fury, and menaced the coachman, who retreated. The stranger struck at him, but the blow, reaching nothing, swung the striker round until he was face to face with the lady, whom he regarded with astonishment.

      “I beg your par’n,” he said, subsiding into humbleness. “I really beg your par’n. The fellow gave me a fearf’ kick in the face, and I barely know where I am yet. ‘Pon my soul,” he added, with foolish glee, “it’s the mos’extor’nary thing. Where has he gone?”

      “Of whom do you speak” said the lady in French.

      “Of — of — je parle d’polisson qui m’a donne un affreux coup de pied under the nose. Jái un grand desir dénfoncer ce lâche maudit.”

      “Unhappily, monsieur, it was my horse that hurt you. I am in despair—”

      “No, no. I tell you it was a fellow named Annatoal, a card sharper. If I ever catch him again, I’ll teach him the English version of the savate. I’ll kick him from one end of Paris to the other.” As he spoke he reeled against the carriage, and, as the horse stirred uneasily, clutched at the door to save himself from falling.

      “ Madame,” said the coachman, who had been looking anxiously for the approach of the police: “do you not see that this is a sot? Better leave him to himself.”

      “I am not drunk,” said the young man earnestly “I have been drinking; but upon my solemn word I am not drunk. I have been attacked and knocked about the head; and I feel very queer. I can’t remember how you came here exactly, though I remember your picking me up. I hope you won’t leave me.”

      The lady, moved by his boyish appearance and the ingenious faith with which he made this appeal, was much perplexed, pitying, but not knowing what to do with him. “Where do you live?” she said. “I will drive you home with pleasure.”

      He became very red. “Thanks awfully,” he said; “but the fact is, I don’t live anywhere in particular. I must go to some hotel. You are very kind; but I won’t trouble you any further. I am all right now.” But he was evidently not all right; for after standing a moment away from the carriage, shamefacedly waiting for the lady to reply, he sat down hastily on the kerbstone, and added, after panting a little, “You must excuse me, Mrs Herbert. I can’t stand very well yet. You had better leave me here: I shall pick myself up presently.”

      “Tiens, tiens, tiens! You seem to know me, monsieur. I, too, recollect your face, but not your name.”

      “Everybody knows you. You may have seen me at Mrs. Phipson’s, in London. I’ve been there when you were there. But really you’d better drive on. This house is a gambling den; and the people may come out at any minute. Don’t let your carriage be seen stopping here.”

      “But I hardly like to leave you here alone and hurt.”

      “Never mind me: it serves me right. Besides, I’d rather you’d leave me, I would indeed.”

      She turned reluctantly toward the carriage, put her foot on the step, and looked back. He was gazing wistfully after her. “But it is inhuman!” she exclaimed, returning. “Come, monsieur, I dare not leave you in such a condition: it is the fault of my horse. I will bring you where you shall be taken care of until you are restored.”

      “It’s awfully good of you” he murmured, rising unsteadily and making his way to the carriage door, which he held whilst she got in. He followed, and was about to place himself bashfully on the front seat, when the coachman, illhumoredly using his whip, started the vehicle and upset him into the vacant space next Aurélie. He uttered an imprecation, and sat bolt upright for a moment. Then, sinking back against the cushion, and moving his hand until it touched her dress, he said drowsily, “It’s really mos’awfully good of you,” and fell asleep.

      He was aroused by a shaking which made his head ache. An old and ugly woman held him by one shoulder, and the coachman, cursing him for a besotted pig, was about to drag him out by the other. He started up and got out of the carriage, СКАЧАТЬ