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Updated: May 19, 2025
"How then does he come to leave it there and take himself off?" "Perhaps he has gone on to the inn," suggested some one. "But he couldn't walk without his crutch," M. Binet insisted. Nevertheless, since clearly he was not anywhere about the market-hall, to the inn they all trooped, and deafened the landlady with their inquiries. "Oh, yes, M. Cordemais came in some time ago." "Where is he now?"
At first he was annoyed; then as he continued in vain to bawl the fellow's name, he began to grow uneasy; lastly, when Polichinelle, who was with them, discovered Cordemais' crutch standing discarded behind the door, M. Binet became alarmed. A dreadful suspicion entered his mind. He grew visibly pale under his paint. "But this evening he couldn't walk without the crutch!" he exclaimed.
But Cordemais was not readily to be found. None of the company had seen him since the close of the performance. M. Binet went round to the entrance. Cordemais was not there.
Cordemais was the name of the original Scaramouche, who had so unfortunately twisted his ankle. That Binet should refer to him by his secular designation was a sign that in the Binet company at least he had fallen for ever from the lofty eminence of Scaramouche. "Let us go and find him, and then we'll away to the inn and crack a bottle of the best Burgundy, perhaps two bottles."
"Polichinelle, you are a fellow after my own heart. I love a man who can discern my merit. If Pantaloon had half your wit, we should have Burgundy to-night in spite of the flight of Cordemais." "Burgundy?" roared M. Binet, and before he could get farther Harlequin had clapped his hands together. "That is the spirit, M. Binet. You heard him, landlady. He called for Burgundy."
You've been drinking," he concluded. "So I have at the fountain of Thalia. Oh, don't you see? Don't you see the treasure that Cordemais has left behind him?" "What has he left?" "A unique idea for the groundwork of a scenario. It unfolds itself all before me. I'll borrow part of the title from Moliere.
To-morrow we go to Maure; there is a fair there to the end of this week. Then on Monday we take our chances at Pipriac, and after that we must consider. It may be that I am about to realize the dream of my life. There must have been upwards of fifteen louis taken to-night. Where the devil is that rascal Cordemais?"
He was laughing still. "It is you, is it? You may laugh on another note, my friend, if I choose a way to recoup myself that I know of." "Dullard!" Scaramouche scorned him. "Rabbit-brained elephant! What if Cordemais has gone with fifteen louis? Hasn't he left you something worth twenty times as much?" M. Binet gaped uncomprehending. "You are between two wines, I think.
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