His honour doesn't want to see Margari just now, very well, he shall not see him so he jumped up behind the carriage alongside the lacquey.

But how surprised his honour will be when he gets to Promontor to see Margari open the carriage door for him?
How he will bid him go to the devil and immediately after burst out laughing and give him a present! And what will the present be?
Has it anything to do with the good news with which he meant to surprise him?
And all the while, Mr.John, inside the carriage was hugging himself with the idea that he had rid himself of Margari for a time and devoutly wishing that the cholera, or some other equally rapid and effectual disease, might remove the old rascal off the face of the earth altogether.
When the carriage stopped at the picturesque vineyards of Promontor, Mr.
John almost had a stroke when, on looking through the glass window, the first feature of the panorama that presented itself was the figure of Margari, hastening to open the door with obsequious familiarity.
"You here, Sirrah," he roared (he would have choked with rage on the spot if he had not said Sirrah).

"How on earth did _you_ get here ?" Margari instantly imagined that his honour's flashing eyes, convulsive mouth and distorted face were the outward signs of a jocose frame of mind, for there was always a sort of travesty of humour in Mr.John's features whenever he was angry.

So, to his own confusion, it occurred to him to make a joke for the first time in his life.
"Crying your honour's pardon, I _flew_," said he.
And in fact the very next instant he was sent flying so impetuously that he did not stop till he plumped right into the trellis-work surrounding a bed of vines.

Never in all his life before had Mr.John dispensed such a buffet.