CHAPTER XIII

Between midnight and one o’clock, the Knights of Idleness began their gratuitous distribution of comestibles to the dogs of the town.  This memorable expedition was not over till three in the morning, the hour at which these reprobates went to sup at Cognette’s.  At half-past four, in the early dawn, they crept home.  Just as Max turned the corner of the rue l’Avenier into the Grande rue, Fario, who stood ambushed in a recess, struck a knife at his heart, drew out the blade, and escaped by the moat towards Vilatte, wiping the blade of his knife on his handkerchief.  The Spaniard washed the handkerchief in the Riviere forcee, and returned quietly to his lodgings at Saint-Paterne, where he got in by a window he had left open, and went to bed:  later, he was awakened by his new watchman, who found him fast asleep.

As he fell, Max uttered a fearful cry which no one could mistake.  Lousteau-Prangin, son of a judge, a distant relation to the family of the sub-delegate, and young Goddet, who lived at the lower end of the Grande rue, ran at full speed up the street, calling to each other,—­

“They are killing Max!  Help! help!”

But not a dog barked; and all the town, accustomed to the false alarms of these nightly prowlers, stayed quietly in their beds.  When his two comrades reached him, Max had fainted.  It was necessary to rouse Monsieur Goddet, the surgeon.  Max had recognized Fario; but when he came to his senses, with several persons about him, and felt that his wound was not mortal, it suddenly occurred to him to make capital out of the attack, and he said, in a faint voice,—­

“I think I recognized that cursed painter!”

Thereupon Lousteau-Prangin ran off to his father, the judge.  Max was carried home by Cognette, young Goddet, and two other persons.  Mere Cognette and Monsieur Goddet walked beside the stretcher.  Those who carried the wounded man naturally looked across at Monsieur Hochon’s door while waiting for Kouski to let them in, and saw Monsieur Hochon’s servant sweeping the steps.  At the old miser’s, as everywhere else in the provinces, the household was early astir.  The few words uttered by Max had roused the suspicions of Monsieur Goddet, and he called to the woman,—­

“Gritte, is Monsieur Joseph Bridau in bed?”

“Bless me!” she said, “he went out at half-past four.  I don’t know what ailed him; he walked up and down his room all night.”

This simple answer drew forth such exclamations of horror that the woman came over, curious to know what they were carrying to old Rouget’s house.

“A precious fellow he is, that painter of yours!” they said to her.  And the procession entered the house, leaving Gritte open-mouthed with amazement at the sight of Max in his bloody shirt, stretched half-fainting on a mattress.