In an hour the cart was taken off
its wheels and hoisted, piece by piece, to the top of the embankment
at the foot of the tower itself,--a work that was somewhat like that
of the soldiers who carried the artillery over the pass of the Grand
Saint-Bernard. The cart was then remounted on its wheels, and the
Knights, by this time hungry and thirsty, returned to Mere Cognette's,
where they were soon seated round the table in the low room, laughing
at the grimaces Fario would make when he came after his barrow in the
morning.
The Knights, naturally, did not play such capers every night. The
genius of Sganarelle, Mascarille, and Scapin combined would not have
sufficed to invent three hundred and sixty-five pieces of mischief a
year. In the first place, circumstances were not always propitious:
sometimes the moon shone clear, or the last prank had greatly
irritated their betters; then one or another of their number refused
to share in some proposed outrage because a relation was involved. But
if the scamps were not at Mere Cognette's every night, they always met
during the day, enjoying together the legitimate pleasures of hunting,
or the autumn vintages and the winter skating. Among this assemblage
of twenty youths, all of them at war with the social somnolence of the
place, there are some who were more closely allied than others to Max,
and who made him their idol. A character like his often fascinates
other youths.
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