Every door flew open as he passed--curious faces were pressed against every window-pane. Some old women, from the outer steps of the doors, called to the madman, who did not deign to turn aside his head; others came down into the street, and tried to bar his way, but he, with head erect and raised eyebrow, with a gesture and a word, forced them to stand aside.
"See," said Hullin, "here is Yégof. I did not expect to see him again this winter. It is not his usual custom. What the devil can bring him back in such weather as this?"
And Louise, laying down her distaff, ran hastily out to look at the "King of Diamonds." The arrival of the fool Yégof at the beginning of winter was quite an event; some were delighted at it, hoping to keep him and make him tell stories of his fortune and glories, by the inn firesides; others, and especially the women, felt a sort of uneasiness, for madmen, as everybody knows, have dealings with the world of spirits; they know the past and the future, and are inspired by God; the only thing is to be able to understand them, their words having always two meanings--one common, for vulgar people, the other deep, for refined and cultivated minds.
And this fool besides, had, above all others, really extraordinary and sublime ideas. No one knew either where he came from, where he went, or what he wanted; for Yégof wandered about the country like a troubled spirit; he would talk of races now extinct, and claimed to be himself Emperor of Austrasia, Polynesia, and other places. Large volumes might have been written about his castles, his palaces, and his strongholds; he knew the numbers, situation, and architecture of them all, and celebrated their grandeur, beauty, and riches with a simple and modest air. He would speak of his stables, his hunting exploits, the officers of his crown, his ministers, his counsellors, the superintendents of his provinces; he never mistook their names or their rank, but he complained bitterly of having been dethroned by the accursed race, and the old midwife, Sapience Coquelin, every time she heard him groaning over this subject, would shed a shower of tears, as would many others too. Then he, pointing with his finger to heaven, would exclaim: