u'll meet neither gendarmes nor revenue-officers, or if
you do, they'll have enough of business on their hands not to care for
yours.'
'Spare my life, most amiable monsieur,' said I, with uplifted hands.
'Never shall I utter one word about you, come what will. I'll keep all
I've seen a secret. Don't kill the father of eight children. Let me live
this time, and I'll never wander off a turnpike road three yards as long
as I breathe.'
They actually screamed with laughter at the terror of my looks; and the
chief, seemingly satisfied with my protestation, replaced his pistol in
his belt, and kneeling down on the ground began leisurely to examine my
knapsack, which he coolly unstrapped and emptied on the grass.
'What are these papers?' said he, as he drew forth a most voluminous
roll of manuscript from a pocket.
'They are notes of my travels,' said I obsequiously--little pen sketches
of men and manners in the countries I've travelled in. I call them
"Adventures of Arthur O'Leary." That's my name, gentlemen, at your
service.'
'Ah, indeed. Well, then, we've given you a very pretty little incident
for your journal this evening,' said he, laughing, 'in return for which
I'll ask leave to borrow these memoranda for wadding for my gun. Believe
me, Monsieur O'Leary, they'll make a greater noise in the world under my
auspices than under yours'; and with that he opened a rude clasp-knife
and proceeded to cut my valued manuscript into pieces about an inch
square. This done, he presented two of my shirts to each of his
followers, reserving three for himself; and having made a most impartial
division of my other effects, he pocketed the purse I carried, with its
few gold pieces, and then, rising to his feet said--
'Antoine, let us be stirring now; the moon will be up soon. Gros Jean,
throw that sack on your shoulder and move forward. And now, monsieur, I
must wish you a good-night; and as in this changeful life we can never
answer for the future, let me commend myself to your recollection
hereafter, if, as may be, we should not meet again. Adieu, adieu,' said
he, waving his hand.
'Adieu,' said I, with a great effort to seem at ease; 'a pleasant
journey, and every success to your honest endeavours.'
'You are a fine fellow,' said he, stopping and turning about
suddenly--'a superb fellow; and I can't part from you without a
_gage d'amitie_ between us'; and with the word he took my handsome
travelling-cap from my head and pl
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