dust. The handsome,
young gallant then bows gracefully to Isabelle and retires from the
scene.

Captain Matamore meanwhile lies sprawling on the ground, making
ludicrous and ineffectual efforts to regain his feet. Pandolphe and
Scapin go to his assistance, and when they have hauled him up, and he
has made sure that Leander is no longer present, he roars out in a voice
of thunder: "Scapin, quick, hoop me with iron bands or I shall burst!
I am in such a rage! I shall explode like a bomb! and you, treacherous
blade, do YOU play me false at such a moment? Is it thus you reward me
for having always tried to slake your insatiable thirst with the blood
of the bravest and noblest? I don't know why I have not already broken
you into a thousand pieces, as you so richly deserve--false, ungrateful
weapon that you are! But stay--was it to teach me that it is unworthy
of the true warrior to desert his post?--or forget his sterner duties
in the soft delights of love?--was it for that you refused to leap from
your scabbard as of old? It is true, alas! that thus far this week
I have not defeated a single army--I have killed neither ogre nor
dragon--I have not furnished his usual rations to Death--and in
consequence my trusty blade has rusted in the scabbard--that I should
live to say it! rusted!--and I have been forced to submit to insults,
and even blows, before the very eyes of my mistress. What a lesson!
Henceforth I shall make it a rule to kill at least three men every
morning before I break my fast, so as to be sure that my good sword
plays freely--keep me in mind, Scapin, do you hear?"

"Perhaps Leander will return before long," says the valet; "suppose we
all help you to draw your 'TRUSTY BLADE,' so that you may be ready for
him."

Matamore, accordingly, plants himself firmly, holding the scabbard in
both hands, Scapin seizes the handle of the sword, Pandolphe clasps him
firmly round the waist, the notary tries to do as much by Pandolphe's
stout person, and they all pull and pull. For some time the rusty old
sword resists all their efforts, but at last yields suddenly, and the
three fall in a confused heap on the ground, with legs and arms waving
wildly in the air, while Matamore tumbles the other way, still clinging
to the now empty scabbard. Picking himself up as quickly as possible
he seizes his big sword, which has dropped from the valet's hand, and
waving it triumphantly says with stem emphasis, "Now Leander's fate is
se