It was a vain
attempt. The eyes of the mulatto flashed from the darkness. The fellow
uttered a cry which his fury stifled in his throat, released himself,
threw back De Marsay with a hand like iron, and nailed him, so to
speak, to the bottom of the carriage; then with his free hand, he drew
a triangular dagger, and whistled. The coachman heard the whistle and
stopped. Henri was unarmed, he was forced to yield. He moved his head
towards the handkerchief. The gesture of submission calmed Cristemio,
and he bound his eyes with a respect and care which manifested a sort
of veneration for the person of the man whom his idol loved. But,
before taking this course, he had placed his dagger distrustfully in
his side pocket, and buttoned himself up to the chin.
"That nigger would have killed me!" said De Marsay to himself.
Once more the carriage moved on rapidly. There was one resource still
open to a young man who knew Paris as well as Henri. To know whither
he was going, he had but to collect himself and count, by the number
of gutters crossed, the streets leading from the boulevards by which
the carriage passed, so long as it continued straight along. He could
thus discover into which lateral street it would turn, either towards
the Seine or towards the heights of Montmartre, and guess the name or
position of the street in which his guide should bring him to a halt.
But the violent emotion which his struggle had caused him, the rage
into which his compromised dignity had thrown him, the ideas of
vengeance to which he abandoned himself, the suppositions suggested to
him by the circumstantial care which this girl had taken in order to
bring him to her, all hindered him from the attention, which the blind
have, necessary for the concentration of his intelligence and the
perfect lucidity of his recollection.
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