The Forty-Five Guardsmen. Dumas Alexandre
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is useless; I have no more money."
"Never mind, I will give you credit; you look like an honest man."
"Thank you; but I cannot wait."
"It is odd how I seem to know you."
"Know me!" cried the dealer, trembling.
"Look at this helmet," said the bourgeois, showing it from the window.
"You say you know me?" asked the dealer.
"I thought so. Are you not – " he seemed seeking for the name. "Are you not Nicholas – "
The dealer looked frightened.
"Nicholas Trouchon, ironmonger, Rue de la Cossonnerie?"
"No, no!" cried the man, breathing more freely again.
"Never mind; will you buy all my armor, cuirass, sword, and all?"
"It is a forbidden commerce."
"I know that; he whom you dealt with just now called it out loud enough."
"You heard!"
"Yes, all; and you were liberal. But be easy, I will not be hard upon you; I have been a trader myself."
"What did you sell?"
"Never mind; I have made my fortune." – "I congratulate you."
"Well, will you buy all my armor?"
"No, I only want the cuirass."
"Do you only buy cuirasses?"
"Yes."
"That is odd, for if you buy and sell by weight, one sort of iron is as good as another."
"That is true, but I have preferences."
"Well, then, buy only the cuirass, or rather – now I think again – buy nothing at all."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that in these times every one wants his arms."
"What! in perfect peace?"
"My good friend, if we were in perfect peace, you would not buy so many cuirasses, and so secretly, too. But really, the longer I look at you, the more I think I know your face. You are not Nicholas Trouchon, but still I know you."
"Silence!"
"And if you buy cuirasses – "
"Well!"
"I am sure it is for a work agreeable to God."
"Hold your tongue!"
"You enchant me!" cried the bourgeois, stretching out a long arm over the balcony and seizing the hand of the dealer.
"Then who the devil are you?" cried he, who felt his hand held as if in a vise.
"I am Robert Briquet, the terror of schismatics, the friend of the Union, and a fierce Catholic; and you are not Nicholas Gimbelot, the currier."
"No, no! good-by."
"What! are you going?"
"Yes!" and he ran off.
But Robert Briquet was not a man to be foiled; he jumped from his balcony and ran after him.
"You are mad!" said he. "If I were your enemy, I have but to cry out, and the watch is in the next street; but you are my friend, and now I know your name. You are Nicholas Poulain, lieutenant to the provost of Paris. I knew it was Nicholas something."
"I am lost!" murmured the man.
"No; you are saved. I will do more for the good cause than ever you would; you have found a brother. Take one cuirass, and I will take another; I give you my gloves and the rest of my armor for nothing. Come on, and Vive l'Union!"
"You accompany me?"
"I will help you to carry these cuirasses which are to conquer the Philistines. Go on, I follow."
A spark of suspicion lingered in the soul of the lieutenant, but he thought; "If he wished me ill, he would not have acknowledged he knew me. Come on then!" he added aloud, "if you will."
"To life or death!" cried Briquet, and he continued to talk in this strain till they arrived near the Hotel Guise, where Nicholas Poulain stopped.
"I fancied it would be here," thought Briquet.
"Now," said Nicholas, with a tragic air, "there is still time to retire before entering the lion's den."
"Bah! I have entered many. Et non intermuit medulla mea!" exclaimed Briquet; "but pardon me, perhaps you do not understand Latin?"
"Do you?" – "As you see."
"What a catch?" thought Poulain, "learned, strong, bold, and rich!" Then he added aloud, "Well! let us enter," and he conducted Briquet to the door of the hotel. The court was full of guards and men wrapped in cloaks, and eight horses, saddled and bridled, waited in a corner; but there was not a light to be seen. Poulain whispered his name to the porter, and added, "I bring a good companion." – "Pass on."
"Take these to the magazine," said Poulain, handing the cuirasses to a soldier. "Now I will present you," said he to Briquet.
"No, I am very timid. When I have done some work, I will present myself."
"As you please. Then wait here for me." – "What are we waiting for?" asked a voice.
"For the master," replied another.
At this moment, a tall man entered. "Gentlemen," said he, "I come in his name."
"Ah! it is M. de Mayneville," said Poulain.
"Ah, really!" said Briquet, making a hideous grimace, which quite altered him.
"Let us go, gentlemen," said M. de Mayneville, and he descended a staircase leading to a vault. All the others followed, and Briquet brought up the rear, murmuring: "But the page! where the devil is the page?"
CHAPTER XI
STILL THE LEAGUE
At the moment when Robert Briquet was about to enter, he saw Poulain waiting for him.
"Pardon," said he, "but my friends do not know you, and decline to admit you to their councils till they know more of you."
"It is just, and I retire, happy to have seen so many brave defenders of the Holy Union."
"Shall I re-conduct you?"
"No, I thank you, I will not trouble you."
"But perhaps they will not open for you; yet I am wanted."
"Have you not a password?"
"Yes."
"Then give it to me. I am a friend, you know."
"True. It is 'Parma and Lorraine!'"
"And they will open?"
"Yes."
"Thanks; now return to your friends."
Briquet took some steps as if to go out, and then stopped to explore the locality. The result of his observations was, that the vault ran parallel to the exterior wall, and terminated in a hall destined for the mysterious council from which he had been excluded. What confirmed him in this supposition was that he saw a light at a barred window, pierced in the wall, and guarded by a sort of wooden pipe, such as they placed at the windows of convents and prisons to intercept the view from without, while the air was still admitted. Briquet imagined this to be the window of the hall, and thought that if he could gain this place he could see all. He looked round him; the court had many soldiers and servants in it, but it was large, and the night was dark; besides, they were not looking his way, and the porter was busy, preparing his bed for the night.
Briquet rapidly climbed on to the cornice which ran toward the window in question, and ran along the wall like a monkey, holding on with his hands and feet to the ornaments of the sculpture. Had the soldiers seen in the dark this figure gliding along the wall without apparent support, they would not have failed to cry, "Magic!" but they did not see him. In four bounds he reached the window, and established himself between the bars and the pipe, so that from the inside he was concealed by the one,