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That day was destined to be an eventful one. It will be remembered that Lampourde, the professional assassin, had received from Merindol acting for the Duke Of Vallombreuse a commission to put Captain Fracasse quietly out of the way, and accordingly that worthy was dodging about on the Pont-Neuf, at the hour of sunset, waiting to intercept his intended victim, who would necessarily pass that way in returning to his hotel.
"Jacquemin Lampourde is a hero, a wonder, as everybody will tell your lordship. He is more valiant than Achilles, or the great Alexander. He is not spotless certainly, like the Chevalier Bayard, but he is fearless."
When that was finished Jacquemin Lampourde was indisputably drunk, and having loyally kept his word, retired, somewhat unsteadily, to his own quarters in a high state of maudlin satisfaction, accompanied by his friend Malartic, whom he had invited to spend the night with him.
Lampourde himself did not seem to be in the least disconcerted, and after winking at his friend furtively in a very knowing way, stood unabashed before the duke, with the bright light of the many wax candles shining full upon his face.
Then began a contest that would have delighted and astonished a connoisseur in fencing such swift, lightning-like flashing of the blades, as they gave and parried cut and thrust the clashing of the steel, the blue sparks that leaped from the contending swords as the fight grew more furious Lampourde keeping up meanwhile an odd running commentary, as his wonder and admiration grew momentarily greater and more enthusiastic, and he had soon reached an exulting mood.
Such was Malartic the intimate friend, the Pylades, the Euryalus, the "fidus Achates" of Jacquemin Lampourde; who certainly was not handsome but his mental and moral qualities made up for his little physical disadvantages.
Lampourde paid no attention to the uproarious throng, further than to look about and make sure that none of his own particular friends and associates were among them.
Meanwhile Lampourde and Scapin had shown the duke's lackeys that it would not be a very easy matter to put them out, and were handling them rather roughly, when the cowardly fellows, seeing that their master was wounded, and leaning against the wall, deathly pale, thought that he was done for, and although they were fully armed, took to their heels and fled, deaf to his feeble cry for assistance.
These words were not complimentary, but the trembling offenders were thankful to get off so easily, and the ruffians, whom Lampourde and Scapin had unbound, followed Malartic down the stairs in silence, without daring to claim their promised reward.
And Jacquemin Lampourde, with a piteous air, drew out and exhibited the sorry remains of his trusty sword almost weeping over it and calling the duke's attention to the perfectly straight and even break. "Your highness can see that it was a prodigious blow that snapped this steel like a pipe-stem, and it was done with such ease and precision.
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