What a terrible fall was this! that famous one of Icarus himself, tumbling down headlong from the near neighbourhood of the sun, was not a greater.  Battered, bruised, sore and aching all over, poor Leander, crestfallen and forlorn, limping painfully, and suppressing his groans with Spartan resolution, crept slowly back to his own room; but so overweening as his self-conceit that he never even suspected that a trick had been played upon him.  He said to himself that without doubt Mme. la Marquise had been watched and followed by her jealous husband, who had overtaken her before she reached the rendezvous in the park, carried her back to the chateau by main strength, and forced her, with a poniard at her throat, to confess all.  He pictured her to himself on her knees, with streaming eyes, disordered dress and dishevelled hair, imploring her stem lord and master to be merciful—­to have pity upon her and forgive her this once—­vowing by all she held sacred never to be faithless to him again, even in thought.  Suffering and miserable as he was after his tremendous thrashing, he yet pitied and grieved over the poor lady who had put herself in such peril for his sake, never dreaming that she was in blissful ignorance of the whole affair, and at that very moment sleeping peacefully in her luxurious bed.  As the poor fellow crept cautiously and painfully along the corridor leading to his room and to those of the other members of the troupe he had the misfortune to be detected by Scapin, who, evidently on the watch for him, was peeping out of his own half-open door, grinning, grimacing, and gesticulating significantly, as he noted the other’s limping gait and drooping figure.

In vain did Leander strive to straighten himself up and assume a gay, careless air; his malicious tormentor was not in the least taken in by it.

The next morning the comedians prepared to resume their journey; no longer, however, in the slow-moving, groaning ox-cart, which they were glad, indeed, to exchange for the more roomy, commodious vehicle that the tyrant had been able to hire for them—­thanks to the marquis’s liberality—­in which they could bestow themselves and their belongings comfortably, and to which was harnessed four stout draught horses.

Leander and Zerbine were both rather late in rising, and the last to make their appearance—­the former with a doleful countenance, despite his best efforts to conceal his sufferings under a cheerful exterior, the latter beaming with satisfaction, and with smiles for everybody.  She was decidedly inclined to be munificent towards her companions, and bestow upon them some of the rich spoils that had fallen plentifully to her share—­taking quite a new position among them—­even the duenna treating her with a certain obsequious, wheedling consideration, which she had been far from ever showing her before.  Scapin, whose keen observation nothing ever escaped, noticed that her box had suddenly doubled in weight, by some magic or other, and drew his own conclusions therefrom.  Zerbine was a universal favourite, and no one begrudged her her good fortune, save Serafina, who bit her lip till it bled, and murmured indignantly, “Shameless creature!” but the soubrette pretended not to hear it, content for the moment with the signal humiliation of the arch-coquette.