“He is stone dead,” said he in despairing tones; “his ears are cold, and there is no pulsation in the auricular artery.”

“Then I suppose we shall have to harness ourselves to the chariot in his place,” broke in Leander dolefully, almost weeping.  “Oh! cursed be the mad folly that led me to choose an actor’s career.”

“Is this a time to groan and bewail yourself?” roared the tyrant savagely, entirely out of patience with Leander’s everlasting jeremiads; “for heaven’s sake pluck up a little courage, and be a man!  And now to consider what is to be done; but first let us see how our good little Isabelle is getting on; is she still unconscious?  No; she opens her eyes, and there is the colour coming back to her lips; she will do now, thanks to the baron and Mme. Leonarde.  We must divide ourselves into two bands; one will stay with the women and the chariot, the other will scour the country in search of aid.  We cannot think of remaining here all night, for we should be frozen stiff long before morning.  Come, Captain Fracasse, Leander, and Scapin, you three being the youngest, and also the fleetest of foot, off with you.  Run like greyhounds, and bring us succour as speedily as may be.  Blazius and I will meantime do duty as guardians of the chariot and its contents.”

The three men designated signified their readiness to obey the tyrant, and set off across country, though not feeling at all sanguine as to the results of their search, for the night was intensely dark; but that very darkness had its advantages, and came to their aid in an unexpected manner, for though it effectually concealed all surrounding objects, it made visible a tiny point of light shining at the foot of a little hill some distance from the road.

“Behold,” cried the pedant, “our guiding star! as welcome to us weary travellers, lost in the desert, as the polar star to the distressed mariner ‘in periculo maris.’  That blessed star yonder, whose rays shine far out into the darkness, is a light burning in some warm, comfortable room, which forms—­Heaven be praised!—­part of the habitation of human and civilized beings—­not Laestrygon savages.  Without doubt there is a bright fire blazing on the hearth in that cosy room, and over it hangs a famous big pot, from which issue puffs of a delicious odour—­oh, delightful thought!—­round which my imagination holds high revel, and in fancy I wash down with generous wine the savoury morsels from that glorious pot-au-feu.”

“You rave, my good Blazius,” said the tyrant, “the frost must have gotten into your brain—­that makes men mad, they say, or silly.  Yet there is some method in your madness, some truth in your ravings, for yonder light must indicate an inhabited dwelling.  This renders a change in the plans for our campaign advisable.  We will all go forward together towards the promised refuge, and leave the chariot where it is; no robbers will be abroad on such a night as this to interfere with its contents.  We will take our few valuables—­they are not so numerous or weighty but that we can carry them with us; for once it is an advantage that our possessions are few.  To-morrow morning we will come back to fetch the chariot:  now, forward, march!—­and it is time, for I am nearly frozen to death.”