He swore and struck his horses
and jerked them violently towards the ditch. Maurice ordered him to
make way. He laughed foolishly and swore at them insultingly. Maurice
and the Count started forward, and the peasant menaced them with the
scythe resting on the seat beside him. In a flash Albert leapt from
his horse, threw the reins to Maurice, and went straight to the
drunkard. The fellow tried to brandish his scythe, but already Albert
had wrenched it from him and threw it aside. Then seizing the man, he
pulled him down on his knees and held him there until he begged for
pardon. The rustic, suddenly sobered, and raging with impatience, paid
in full the apologies exacted by the Count, before he was allowed to
get up.
Jean, during this contest, had led the horses out of their way. The
driver, pale with fury, swung his whip at large and it struck
Esperance's horse. The poor beast, mad with fright, took the bit
between his teeth and started out on a dizzy run. Albert saw at a
glance the only possible way to stop his course.
"Go to the left and cut across the road," he cried, "I'll take the
right."
And he put his horse across the fields.
Esperance's horse did not follow the bend of the road as Styvens had
expected. Blinded by fright, it made straight ahead towards the
cliffs.
Once on the rocks, there was the precipice and certain death.
The Count's horse leapt as if it understood what it had to do.
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