t it the better. Those brutes that attacked us may
return with reinforcements--indeed I think it more than likely that they
will--in which case your sword, my dear baron, and my stick might not
be enough to scatter them again. We don't want to kill any of them,
and have the cries of widows and orphans resounding in our ears; and
besides, it might be awkward for us if we were obliged to do it in
self-defence, and then were hauled up before the local justice of peace
to answer for it."

There was so much good sense in this advice that it was unanimously
agreed to follow it, and in less than an hour, after having settled
their account at the inn, they, were once more upon the road.

CHAPTER VII. CAPTAIN FRACASSE

The comedians pushed forward at first as rapidly as the strength of
their horse--resuscitated by a night's rest in a comfortable stable, and
a generous feed of oats--would allow; it being important to put a good
distance between themselves and the infuriated peasants who had been
repulsed by de Sigognac and the tyrant. They plodded on for more than
two leagues in profound silence, for poor Matamore's sad fate weighed
heavily upon their hearts, and each one thought, with a shudder, that
the day might come when he too would die, and be buried secretly and in
haste, in some lonely and neglected spot by the roadside, wherever they
chanced to be, and there abandoned by his comrades.

At last Blazius, whose tongue was scarcely ever at rest, save when he
slept, could restrain it no longer, and began to expatiate upon the
mournful theme of which all were thinking, embellishing his discourse
with many apt quotations, apothegms and maxims, of which in his role of
pedant he had an ample store laid up in his memory. The tyrant listened
in silence, but with such a scowling, preoccupied air that Blazius
finally observed it, and broke off his eloquent disquisition abruptly to
inquire what he was cogitating so intently.

"I am thinking about Milo, the celebrated Crotonian," he replied, "who
killed a bullock with one blow of his fist, and devoured it in a single
day. I always have admired that exploit particularly, and I feel as if I
could do as much myself to-day."

"But as bad luck will have it," said Scapin, putting in his oar, "the
bullock is wanting."

"Yes," rejoined the tyrant, "I, alas! have only the fist and the
stomach. Oh! thrice happy the ostrich, that, at a pinch, makes a meal
of pebbles, bits of broken gl