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But for the latter inconvenience, the carriage probably would not have stopped; carriages were often known to drive on, and leave their wounded behind, and why not? But the frightened valet had got down in a hurry, and there were twenty hands at the horses’ bridles. If the horses hadn’t stopped, the carriage probably would have kept going. Carriages often drove on and left behind whomever they had hurt. And why not? But the frightened driver had gotten down quickly off the top of the coach, and ten people held the horses’ bridles.
“What has gone wrong?” said Monsieur, calmly looking out. “What’s wrong?” said the man inside. He calmly looked out of the carriage.
A tall man in a nightcap had caught up a bundle from among the feet of the horses, and had laid it on the basement of the fountain, and was down in the mud and wet, howling over it like a wild animal. A tall man wearing a nightcap had picked up a bundle from under the horses’ feet and laid it on the base of the fountain. He was kneeling down in the wet mud, howling and crying like a wild animal.
“Pardon, Monsieur the Marquis!” said a ragged and submissive man, “it is a child.” “Excuse me, monsieur the marquis!” said a meek man in ragged clothing. “It is a child.”
“Why does he make that abominable noise? Is it his child?” “Why is he howling like that? Is it his child?”
“Excuse me, Monsieur the Marquis—it is a pity—yes.” “Excuse me, monsieur the marquis. It’s a shame, but yes, it is.”
The fountain was a little removed; for the street opened, where it was, into a space some ten or twelve yards square. As the tall man suddenly got up from the ground, and came running at the carriage, Monsieur the Marquis clapped his hand for an instant on his sword-hilt. The fountain was a little set off from the street, for the street opened into a space of about ten or twelve square yards. The tall man suddenly got up from the ground and ran toward the carriage. Monsieur the marquis reached for the handle of his sword.
“Killed!” shrieked the man, in wild desperation, extending both arms at their length above his head, and staring at him. “Dead!” “He’s been killed!” screamed the man, extending both arms over his head desperately. “He’s dead!”
The people closed round, and looked at Monsieur the Marquis. There was nothing revealed by the many eyes that looked at him but watchfulness and eagerness; there was no visible menacing or anger. Neither did the people say anything; after the first cry, they had been silent, and they remained so. The voice of the submissive man who had spoken, was flat and tame in its extreme submission. Monsieur the Marquis ran his eyes over them all, as if they had been mere rats come out of their holes. The crowd gathered around and looked at monsieur the marquis. They only looked at him carefully and eagerly, without any menace or anger. No one said anything. After the first cry they had all stayed completely silent. The voice of the meek man was flat and tame with submission. The marquis looked at them all as if they were rats that had just come out of their holes.
He took out his purse. The marquis took out his purse.
“It is extraordinary to me,” said he, “that you people cannot take care of yourselves and your children. One or the other of you is for ever in the way. How do I know what injury you have done my horses. See! Give him that.” “I’m amazed that you people can’t take care of yourselves and your children. One or another of you is always getting in the way. Who knows how badly you’ve hurt my horses? Here! Give him that.”
He threw out a gold coin for the valet to pick up, and all the heads craned forward that all the eyes might look down at it as it fell. The tall man called out again with a most unearthly cry, “Dead!” He tossed a gold coin on the ground for the driver to pick up, and everyone leaned forward to watch it as it fell. The tall man cried out again desperately, “He’s dead!”
He was arrested by the quick arrival of another man, for whom the rest made way. On seeing him, the miserable creature fell upon his shoulder, sobbing and crying, and pointing to the fountain, where some women were stooping over the motionless bundle, and moving gently about it. They were as silent, however, as the men. Another man, for whom everyone else made way, arrived quickly and stopped him. On seeing this late comer, the meek man fell onto his shoulder, sobbing and crying and pointing to the fountain where some women were bent over the motionless bundle. They moved around it gently, completely silent, as were the men.
“I know all, I know all,” said the last comer. “Be a brave man, my Gaspard! It is better for the poor little plaything to die so, than to live. It has died in a moment without pain. Could it have lived an hour as happily?” “I know, I know,” said the man who had just arrived. “Be brave, Gaspard! It is better for the poor child to die this way than to live. It has died in an instant without suffering. Could it have lived one hour as happily?”
“You are a philosopher, you there,” said the Marquis, smiling. “How do they call you?” “You are a philosopher,” said the marquis, smiling. “What is your name?”