You will certainly--" He got no further, for the attention of all was suddenly arrested by a wagon driving furiously round the corner of the Court House.

It was a red wagon.

In it was Jean Jacques Barbille.
His face was white and set; his head was thrust forward, as though looking at something far ahead of him; the pony stallions he was driving were white with sweat, and he had an air of tragic helplessness and panic.
Suddenly a child ran across the roadway in front of the ponies, and the wild cry of the mother roused Jean Jacques out of his agonized trance.
He sprang to his feet, wrenching the horses backward and aside with deftness and presence of mind.

The margin of safety was not more than a foot, but the child was saved.
The philosopher of the Manor Cartier seemed to come out of a dream as men and women applauded, and cries arose of "Bravo, M'sieu' Jean Jacques!" At any other time this would have made Jean Jacques nod and smile, or wave a hand, or exclaim in good fellowship.

Now, however, his eyes were full of trouble, and the glassiness of the semi-trance leaving them, they shifted restlessly here and there.