The poor girl blushed very
much, and did so. As all the people were applauding, Tagrag rushed up,
and, laying his hand on the Baron's shoulder, whispered something in his
ear, which made the other very angry, I suppose, for he shook him off
violently. "Chacun pour soi," says he, "Monsieur de Taguerague,"--which
means, I am told, "Every man for himself." And then he rode away,
throwing his lance in the air, catching it, and making his horse caper
and prance, to the admiration of all beholders.
After this came the "Passage of Arms." Tagrag and the Baron ran courses
against the other champions; ay, and unhorsed two apiece; whereupon the
other three refused to turn out; and preciously we laughed at them, to
be sure!
"Now, it's OUR turn, Mr. CHICOT," says Tagrag, shaking his fist at the
Baron: "look to yourself, you infernal mountebank, for, by Jupiter,
I'll do my best!" And before Jemmy and the rest of us, who were quite
bewildered, could say a word, these two friends were charging away,
spears in hand, ready to kill each other. In vain Jemmy screamed; in
vain I threw down my truncheon: they had broken two poles before I could
say "Jack Robinson," and were driving at each other with the two new
ones. The Baron had the worst of the first course, for he had almost
been carried out of his saddle.
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