If the coachman had not had a cranium as hard as iron, he probably could
not have received such a storm of fisticuffs without giving up the ghost.
Fortunately for him, he had one of those excellent Breton heads that
break the sticks which beat them. Save for a certain giddiness, he came
out of the scramble safe and sound. Far from losing his presence of mind
by the disadvantageous position in which he found himself, he supported
himself upon the ground with his left hand, and, passing his other arm
behind him, he wound it around the workman's legs, who thus found himself
reaped down, so to speak, and a moment later was lying on his back in
front of his adversary. The latter, holding him fast with his strong
hands, placed a knee, as large as a plate, upon his chest and then pulled
off the cap that his enemy had pushed down over his eyes, and proceeded
to administer full justice to him.

"Ah! you thought you'd attack me treacherously, did you?" said he, with
a derisive chuckle as if to slacken the speed of his horses. "You know
short reckonings make good friends. Oh! what a fine thrashing you are
going to receive, my friend! Take care! if you try to bite my hand,
I'll choke you with my two fingers, do you hear! Now, then, take this
for the green toad; this, for my horses' sake; this, for Mademoiselle
Marianne!"

He followed each "this" with a heavy blow from his fist. At the third
blow the blood poured out of the mouth of the carpenter, who writhed
under the pressure of his adversary's knee like a buffalo stifled by a
boa-constrictor; he succeeded at last in freeing one hand, which he
thrust into his trousers' pocket.

"Ah! you rascal! I am killed!" howled the coachman, giving a bound
backward. Lambernier, profiting by his freedom, jumped upon his feet,