e pieces of rich silk, the golden
necklaces and other like treasures with which her chest was replete--no
wonder that it was heavy--while de Sigognac and Isabelle, thinking only
of each other, and happy in being together, did not even turn their
heads for one last glimpse of the handsome Chateau de Bruyere.

CHAPTER VI. A SNOW-STORM AND ITS CONSEQUENCES

As may be readily supposed, the comedians were well satisfied with
the kind treatment they had received during their brief sojourn at the
Chateau de Bruyeres; such a piece of good fortune did not often fall
to their lot, and they rejoiced in it exceedingly. The tyrant had
distributed among them each one's share of the marquis's liberal
remuneration for their services, and it was wonderfully pleasant to them
to have broad pieces in the purses usually so scantily supplied, and not
infrequently quite empty. Zerbine, who was evidently rejoicing over some
secret source of satisfaction, accepted good-naturedly all the taunts
and jokes of her companions upon the irresistible power of her charms.
She was triumphant, and could afford to be laughed at--indeed, joined
heartily in the general merriment at her own expense--while Serafina
sulked openly, with "envy, hatred, and malice" filling her heart. Poor
Leander, still smarting from his severe beating, sore and aching, unable
to find an easy position, and suffering agonies from the jolting of the
chariot, found it hard work to join in the prevailing gaiety.

When he thought no one was looking at him, he would furtively rub
his poor, bruised shoulders and arms with the palm of his hand, which
stealthy manoeuvre might very readily have passed unobserved by the rest
of the company, but did not escape the wily valet, who was always on
the lookout for a chance to torment Leander; his monstrous self-conceit
being intensely exasperating to him. A harder jolt than usual having
made the unfortunate gallant groan aloud, Scapin immediately opened his
attack, feigning to feel the liveliest commiseration for him.

"My poor Leander, what is the matter with you this morning? You moan and
sigh as if you were in great agony! Are you really suffering so
acutely? You seem to be all battered and bruised, like the Knight of
the Sorrowful Countenance, after he had capered stark naked, for a love
penance, among the rocks in the Sierra Morena, in humble imitation of
his favourite hero, Amadis de Gaul. You look as if you had not slept
at all last