” ‘A pleasing symmetry, is it not?’ commented the wizard; but his apprentice averted his gaze. No one responded—silence; so it went for several hours. Then, shortly after noon, the first break in the monotony appeared; Sir Carayne, leaning out the window—suddenly he cried—’Look! Up ahead!—a boulder!’ We rushed to the window. Sure enough!—ahead, barely on the horizon, a boulder stood by the roadside. Not an especially large boulder, mind you—rather small, totally unremarkable, in fact; but in the midst of that wasteland it was a beacon in the darkness—an oasis—a work of art! We sat back in our seats, laughing a bit—so great the despondency of that place! The coach rolled on; then, suddenly—
” ‘Stand and deliver!’
“The coach screeched to a halt. We rushed to the windows—who had cried out?—we wondered; but nothing; nothing was to be seen but the boulder, next to which the coach was drawn—and it was far too small for a man to hide behind. Except for that, the Drear stretched away in its awful solitude, unbroken in every direction.
“The messenger sighed and resumed his seat. ‘It is Rascogne de Sevigneois,’ he said gloomily. ‘Who?’ we demanded. ‘Rascogne de Sevigneois, the highwayman; it can be no other.’ ‘But there is no one to be seen!’ protested Sir Carayne. ‘He is a master of disguises,’ replied the messenger.
“In confirmation, at that very moment the mysterious voice was heard again. ‘It is I, Rascogne de Sevigneois, cunningly disguised as a small boulder!’ We rushed to the window anew—sure enough; imagine our astonishment! There—where we had thought to see a small gray boulder—stood instead a horseman—brightly caparisoned in scarlet cloak, emerald breeches, ruffled shirt, floppy feathered hat; a rapier scabbarded to his side. The fellow was short, very muscular; swarthy of complexion; his face adorned by an aquiline nose and dazzling white teeth, grinning at us from beneath a monstrous pair of waxed mustachios. He sprang from his horse and bounded over to the coach. Doffing his hat with a flourish, he opened the door.
” ‘Alight, my good people! Commerce awaits us!’
“The driver and the guard—the latter dropping his crossbow as if it were a hot poker—climbed down from the coach and stood to one side; they seemed not overly aroused—plain as day, they had no intention of resisting the brute. ‘Knaves!’ roared the knight, shaking his fist at the two. Then, glaring fiercely at the highwayman—he flung himself out of the coach, his broadsword clutched in a meaty fist. ‘Know, footpad,’ he bellowed at Rascogne—the rascal’s grin growing more impudent by the second as he bounded about, from level soil to coach top to saddle to ground—’that here you deal not with a brace of scurvy coachmen, but with a belted knight of the realm!’ And with that, Sir Carayne swung a terrific blow at the robber. But he misjudged the character of the foe—for in a movement too quick for the eye to follow, the highwayman drew his rapier and deflected the broadsword with the greatest of ease.
” ‘Aha!’ cried the rogue. ‘A duel! A merry duel!’ He bounded from the ground to the saddle to the top of the coach to the ground to the top of Sir Carayne’s head to the ground to the saddle and back to the ground again; his dark eyes gleamed with amusement. ‘You seek to undo Rascogne de Sevigneois! Take, then, varlet, this!’ His rapier blurred—in a trice Sir Carayne was disarmed; his belt sliced in two, causing his trousers to fall; and—imagine his chagrin—there, carved upon his chain mail tunic, the words—’Rascogne de Sevigneois finds thee an ill-bred lout.’
“Discretion overcoming the point of honor, Sir Carayne desisted from further combat. Retrieving his sword, he scabbarded it; then—was forced to clutch his trousers to his waist. The highwayman stretched out his palm; angrily, the flower of the Crapaude tossed over his purse; then—stalked off a ways and glowered at the horizon. Rascogne bounded over to the coach. ‘Come, come!’ he cried, ‘Rascogne awaits!’ He held the door open courteously.
“There being nothing else to do, we descended from the coach. The messenger was the first one out, followed by the parson; the wizard and his apprentice came next, the latter toting his gigantic sack; then myself, followed by Il Conde and La Contessa. The latter, however, had no chance to set foot on ground. For, no sooner had her voluptuous figure filled the doorway of the coach than the highwayman’s dark features reddened with passion. His eyes gleamed; his teeth sparkled like diamonds. ‘Such beauty has not been seen on the Drear in many a day!’ exclaimed the villain. La Contessa blushed under his admiring regard. Uttering no further words, Rascogne drew forth a bottle of champagne and two glasses from beneath his cloak; sprang into the coach—the door slammed shut. A boisterous laugh; some murmured words; the popping of a cork; the clink of glasses; some murmured words; a baritone and a soprano voice mingling in gay repartee—then—suddenly the coach was rocking madly on its springs; ‘Aha! Furious passion!’ came the robber’s voice from within.