"De Bracieux de Pierrefonds," added Porthos.
"These names are too numerous for me to remember them all, and I will
content myself with the first," said the queen, graciously. Porthos
bowed. At this moment the coadjutor was announced; a cry of surprise ran
through the royal assemblage. Although the coadjutor had preached that
same morning it was well known that he leaned much to the side of the
Fronde; and Mazarin, in requesting the archbishop of Paris to make his
nephew preach, had evidently had the intention of administering to
Monsieur de Retz one of those Italian kicks he so much enjoyed giving.
The fact was, in leaving Notre Dame the coadjutor had learned the event
of the day. Although almost engaged to the leaders of the Fronde he had
not gone so far but that retreat was possible should the court offer him
the advantages for which he was ambitious and to which the coadjutorship
was but a stepping-stone. Monsieur de Retz wished to become archbishop
in his uncle’s place, and cardinal, like Mazarin; and the popular party
could with difficulty accord him favors so entirely royal. He therefore
hastened to the palace to congratulate the queen on the battle of Lens,
determined beforehand to act with or against the court, as his
congratulations were well or ill received.
The coadjutor possessed, perhaps, as much wit as all those put together
who were assembled at the court to laugh at him. His speech, therefore,
was so well turned, that in spite of the great wish felt by the
courtiers to laugh, they could find no point on which to vent their
ridicule. He concluded by saying that he placed his feeble influence at
her majesty’s command.
During the whole time he was speaking, the queen appeared to be well
pleased with the coadjutor’s harangue; but terminating as it did with
such a phrase, the only one which could be caught at by the jokers, Anne
turned around and directed a glance toward her favorites, which
announced that she delivered up the coadjutor to their tender mercies.
Immediately the wits of the court plunged into satire. Nogent-Beautin,
the fool of the court, exclaimed that "the queen was very happy to have
the succor of religion at such a moment." This caused a universal burst
of laughter. The Count de Villeroy said that "he did not know how any
fear could be entertained for a moment, when the court had, to defend
itself against the parliament and the citizens of Paris, his holiness
the coadjutor, who by a signal could raise an army of curates, church
porters and vergers."
The Marechal de la Meilleraie added that in case the coadjutor should
appear on the field of battle it would be a pity that he should not be
distinguished in the melee by wearing a red hat, as Henry IV. had been
distinguished by his white plume at the battle of Ivry.
During this storm, Gondy, who had it in his power to make it most
unpleasant for the jesters, remained calm and stern. The queen at last
asked him if he had anything to add to the fine discourse he had just
made to her.
"Yes, madame," replied the coadjutor; "I have to beg you to reflect
twice ere you cause a civil war in the kingdom."
The queen turned her back and the laughing recommenced.
The coadjutor bowed and left the palace, casting upon the cardinal such
a glance as is best understood by mortal foes. That glance was so sharp
that it penetrated the heart of Mazarin, who, reading in it a
declaration of war, seized D’Artagnan by the arm and said:
"If occasion requires, monsieur, you will remember that man who has just
gone out, will you not?"
"Yes, my lord," he replied. Then, turning toward Porthos, "The devil!"
said he, "this has a bad look. I dislike these quarrels among men of the
church."
Gondy withdrew, distributing benedictions on his way, and finding a
malicious satisfaction in causing the adherents of his foes to prostrate
themselves at his feet.
"Oh!" he murmured, as he left the threshold of the palace: "ungrateful
court! faithless court! cowardly court! I will teach you how to laugh
to-morrow--but in another manner."
But whilst they were indulging in extravagant joy at the Palais Royal,
to increase the hilarity of the queen, Mazarin, a man of sense, and
whose fear, moreover, gave him foresight, lost no time in making idle
and dangerous jokes; he went out after the coadjutor, settled his
account, locked up his gold, and had confidential workmen to contrive
hiding places in his walls.
On his return home the coadjutor was informed that a young man had come
in after his departure and was waiting for him; he started with delight
when, on demanding the name of this young man, he learned that it was
Louvieres. He hastened to his cabinet. Broussel’s son was there, still
furious, and still bearing bloody marks of his struggle with the king’s
officers. The only precaution he had taken in coming to the
archbishopric was to leave his arquebuse in the hands of a friend.
The coadjutor went to him and held out his hand. The young man gazed at
him as if he would have read the secret of his heart.
"My dear Monsieur Louvieres," said the coadjutor, "believe me, I am
truly concerned for the misfortune which has happened to you."
"Is that true, and do you speak seriously?" asked Louvieres.
"From the depth of my heart," said Gondy.
"In that case, my lord, the time for words has passed and the hour for
action is at hand; my lord, in three days, if you wish it, my father
will be out of prison and in six months you may be cardinal."
The coadjutor started.
"Oh! let us speak frankly," continued Louvieres, "and act in a
straightforward manner. Thirty thousand crowns in alms is not given, as
you have done for the last six months, out of pure Christian charity;
that would be too grand. You are ambitious--it is natural; you are a man
of genius and you know your worth. As for me, I hate the court and have
but one desire at this moment--vengeance. Give us the clergy and the
people, of whom you can dispose, and I will bring you the citizens and
the parliament; with these four elements Paris is ours in a week; and
believe me, monsieur coadjutor, the court will give from fear what it
will not give from good-will."
It was now the coadjutor’s turn to fix his piercing eyes on Louvieres.
"But, Monsieur Louvieres, are you aware that it is simply civil war you
are proposing to me?"
"You have been preparing long enough, my lord, for it to be welcome to
you now."
"Never mind," said the coadjutor; "you must be well aware that this
requires reflection."
"And how many hours of reflection do you ask?"
"Twelve hours, sir; is it too long?"
"It is now noon; at midnight I will be at your house."
"If I should not be in, wait for me."
"Good! at midnight, my lord."
"At midnight, my dear Monsieur Louvieres."
When once more alone Gondy sent to summon all the curates with whom he
had any connection to his house. Two hours later, thirty officiating
ministers from the most populous, and consequently the most disturbed
parishes of Paris had assembled there. Gondy related to them the insults
he had received at the Palais Royal and retailed the jests of Beautin,
the Count de Villeroy and Marechal de la Meilleraie. The curates asked
him what was to be done.
"Simply this," said the coadjutor. "You are the directors of all
consciences. Well, undermine in them the miserable prejudice of respect
and fear of kings; teach your flocks that the queen is a tyrant; and
repeat often and loudly, so that all may know it, that the misfortunes
of France are caused by Mazarin, her lover and her destroyer; begin this
work to-day, this instant even, and in three days I shall expect the
result. For the rest, if any one of you have further or better counsel
to expound, I will listen to him with the greatest pleasure."
Three curates remained--those of St. Merri, St. Sulpice and St.
Eustache. The others withdrew.
"You think, then, that you can help me more efficaciously than your
brothers?" said Gondy.
"We hope so," answered the curates.
"Let us hear. Monsieur de St. Merri, you begin."
"My lord, I have in my parish a man who might be of the greatest use to
you."
"Who and what is this man?"
"A shopkeeper in the Rue des Lombards, who has great influence upon the
commerce of his quarter."
"What is his name?"
"He is named Planchet, who himself also caused a rising about six weeks
ago; but as he was searched for after this emeute he disappeared."
"And can you find him?"
"I hope so. I think he has not been arrested, and as I am his wife’s
confessor, if she knows where he is I shall know it too."
"Very well, sir, find this man, and when you have found him bring him to
me."
"We will be with you at six o’clock, my lord."
"Go, my dear curate, and may God assist you!"
"And you, sir?" continued Gondy, turning to the curate of St. Sulpice.
"I, my lord," said the latter, "I know a man who has rendered great
services to a very popular prince and who would make an excellent leader
of revolt. Him I can place at your disposal; it is Count de Rochefort."
"I know him also, but unfortunately he is not in Paris."
"My lord, he has been for three days at the Rue Cassette."
"And wherefore has he not been to see me?"
"He was told--my lord will pardon me----"
"Certainly, speak."
"That your lordship was about to treat with the court."
Gondy bit his lips.
"They are mistaken; bring him here at eight o’clock, sir, and may Heaven
bless you as I bless you!"
"And now ’tis your turn," said the coadjutor, turning to the last that
remained; "have you anything as good to offer me as the two gentlemen
who have left us?"
"Better, my lord."
"Diable! think what a solemn engagement you are making; one has offered
a wealthy shopkeeper, the other a count; you are going, then, to offer a
prince, are you?"
"I offer you a beggar, my lord."
"Ah! ah!" said Gondy, reflecting, "you are right, sir; some one who
could raise the legion of paupers who choke up the crossings of Paris;
some one who would know how to cry aloud to them, that all France might
hear it, that it is Mazarin who has reduced them to poverty."
"Exactly your man."
"Bravo! and the man?"
"A plain and simple beggar, as I have said, my lord, who asks for alms,
as he gives holy water; a practice he has carried on for six years on
the steps of St. Eustache."
"And you say that he has a great influence over his compeers?"
"Are you aware, my lord, that mendacity is an organized body, a kind of
association of those who have nothing against those who have everything;
an association in which every one takes his share; one that elects a
leader?"
"Yes, I have heard it said," replied the coadjutor.
"Well, the man whom I offer you is a general syndic."
"And what do you know of him?"
"Nothing, my lord, except that he is tormented with remorse."
"What makes you think so?"
"On the twenty-eighth of every month he makes me say a mass for the
repose of the soul of one who died a violent death; yesterday I said
this mass again."
"And his name?"
"Maillard; but I do not think it is his right one."
"And think you that we should find him at this hour at his post?"
"Certainly."
"Let us go and see your beggar, sir, and if he is such as you describe
him, you are right--it will be you who have discovered the true
treasure."
Gondy dressed himself as an officer, put on a felt cap with a red
feather, hung on a long sword, buckled spurs to his boots, wrapped
himself in an ample cloak and followed the curate.
The coadjutor and his companion passed through all the streets lying
between the archbishopric and the St. Eustache Church, watching
carefully to ascertain the popular feeling. The people were in an
excited mood, but, like a swarm of frightened bees, seemed not to know
at what point to concentrate; and it was very evident that if leaders of
the people were not provided all this agitation would pass off in idle
buzzing.
On arriving at the Rue des Prouvaires, the curate pointed toward the
square before the church.
"Stop!" he said, "there he is at his post."
Gondy looked at the spot indicated and perceived a beggar seated in a
chair and leaning against one of the moldings; a little basin was near
him and he held a holy water brush in his hand.
"Is it by permission that he remains there?" asked Gondy.
"No, my lord; these places are bought. I believe this man paid his
predecessor a hundred pistoles for his."
"The rascal is rich, then?"
"Some of those men sometimes die worth twenty thousand and twenty-five
and thirty thousand francs and sometimes more."
"Hum!" said Gondy, laughing; "I was not aware my alms were so well
invested."
In the meantime they were advancing toward the square, and the moment
the coadjutor and the curate put their feet on the first church step the
mendicant arose and proffered his brush.
He was a man between sixty-six and sixty-eight years of age, little,
rather stout, with gray hair and light eyes. His countenance denoted the
struggle between two opposite principles--a wicked nature, subdued by
determination, perhaps by repentance.
He started on seeing the cavalier with the curate. The latter and the
coadjutor touched the brush with the tips of their fingers and made the
sign of the cross; the coadjutor threw a piece of money into the hat,
which was on the ground.
"Maillard," began the curate, "this gentleman and I have come to talk
with you a little."
"With me!" said the mendicant; "it is a great honor for a poor
distributor of holy water."
There was an ironical tone in his voice which he could not quite
disguise and which astonished the coadjutor.
"Yes," continued the curate, apparently accustomed to this tone, "yes,
we wish to know your opinion of the events of to-day and what you have
heard said by people going in and out of the church."
The mendicant shook his head.
"These are melancholy doings, your reverence, which always fall again
upon the poor. As to what is said, everybody is discontented, everybody
complains, but ’everybody’ means ’nobody.’"
"Explain yourself, my good friend," said the coadjutor.
"I mean that all these cries, all these complaints, these curses,
produce nothing but storms and flashes and that is all; but the
lightning will not strike until there is a hand to guide it."
"My friend," said Gondy, "you seem to be a clever and a thoughtful man;
are you disposed to take a part in a little civil war, should we have
one, and put at the command of the leader, should we find one, your
personal influence and the influence you have acquired over your
comrades?"
"Yes, sir, provided this war were approved of by the church and would
advance the end I wish to attain--I mean, the remission of my sins."
"The war will not only be approved of, but directed by the church. As
for the remission of your sins, we have the archbishop of Paris, who has
the very greatest power at the court of Rome, and even the coadjutor,
who possesses some plenary indulgences; we will recommend you to him."
"Consider, Maillard," said the curate, "that I have recommended you to
this gentleman, who is a powerful lord, and that I have made myself
responsible for you."
"I know, monsieur le cure," said the beggar, "that you have always been
very kind to me, and therefore I, in my turn, will be serviceable to
you."
"And do you think your power as great with the fraternity as monsieur le
cure told me it was just now?"
"I think they have some esteem for me," said the mendicant with pride,
"and that not only will they obey me, but wherever I go they will follow
me."
"And could you count on fifty resolute men, good, unemployed, but active
souls, brawlers, capable of bringing down the walls of the Palais Royal
by crying, ’Down with Mazarin,’ as fell those at Jericho?"
"I think," said the beggar, "I can undertake things more difficult and
more important than that."
"Ah, ah," said Gondy, "you will undertake, then, some night, to throw up
some ten barricades?"
"I will undertake to throw up fifty, and when the day comes, to defend
them."
"I’faith!" exclaimed Gondy, "you speak with a certainty that gives me
pleasure; and since monsieur le cure can answer for you----"
"I answer for him," said the curate.
"Here is a bag containing five hundred pistoles in gold; make all your
arrangements, and tell me where I shall be able to find you this evening
at ten o’clock."
"It must be on some elevated place, whence a given signal may be seen in
every part of Paris."
"Shall I give you a line for the vicar of St. Jacques de la Boucherie?
he will let you into the rooms in his tower," said the curate.
"Capital," answered the mendicant.
"Then," said the coadjutor, "this evening, at ten o’clock, and if I am
pleased with you another bag of five hundred pistoles will be at your
disposal."
The eyes of the mendicant dashed with cupidity, but he quickly
suppressed his emotion.
"This evening, sir," he replied, "all will be ready."
46. The Tower of St. Jacques de la Boucherie.
At a quarter to six o’clock, Monsieur de Gondy, having finished his
business, returned to the archiepiscopal palace.
At six o’clock the curate of St. Merri was announced.
The coadjutor glanced rapidly behind and saw that he was followed by
another man. The curate then entered, followed by Planchet.
"Your holiness," said the curate, "here is the person of whom I had the
honor to speak to you."
Planchet saluted in the manner of one accustomed to fine houses.
"And you are disposed to serve the cause of the people?" asked Gondy.
"Most undoubtedly," said Planchet. "I am a Frondist from my heart. You
see in me, such as I am, a person sentenced to be hung."
"And on what account?"
"I rescued from the hands of Mazarin’s police a noble lord whom they
were conducting back to the Bastile, where he had been for five years."
"Will you name him?"
"Oh, you know him well, my lord--it is Count de Rochefort."
"Ah! really, yes," said the coadjutor, "I have heard this affair
mentioned. You raised the whole district, so they told me!"
"Very nearly," replied Planchet, with a self-satisfied air.
"And your business is----"
"That of a confectioner, in the Rue des Lombards."
"Explain to me how it happens that, following so peaceful a business,
you had such warlike inclinations."
"Why does my lord, belonging to the church, now receive me in the dress
of an officer, with a sword at his side and spurs to his boots?"
"Not badly answered, i’faith," said Gondy, laughing; "but I have, you
must know, always had, in spite of my bands, warlike inclinations."
"Well, my lord, before I became a confectioner I myself was three years
sergeant in the Piedmontese regiment, and before I became sergeant I was
for eighteen months the servant of Monsieur d’Artagnan."
"The lieutenant of musketeers?" asked Gondy.
"Himself, my lord."
"But he is said to be a furious Mazarinist."
"Phew!" whistled Planchet.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Nothing, my lord; Monsieur d’Artagnan belongs to the service; Monsieur
d’Artagnan makes it his business to defend the cardinal, who pays him,
as much as we make it ours, we citizens, to attack him, whom he robs."
"You are an intelligent fellow, my friend; can we count upon you?"
"You may count upon me, my lord, provided you want to make a complete
upheaval of the city."
"’Tis that exactly. How many men, think you, you could collect together
to-night?"
"Two hundred muskets and five hundred halberds."
"Let there be only one man in every district who can do as much and by
to-morrow we shall have quite a powerful army. Are you disposed to obey
Count de Rochefort?"
"I would follow him to hell, and that is saying not a little, as I
believe him entirely capable of the descent."
"Bravo!"
"By what sign to-morrow shall we be able to distinguish friends from
foes?"
"Every Frondist must put a knot of straw in his hat."
"Good! Give the watchword."
"Do you want money?"
"Money never comes amiss at any time, my lord; if one has it not, one
must do without it; with it, matters go on much better and more
rapidly."
Gondy went to a box and drew forth a bag.
"Here are five hundred pistoles," he said; "and if the action goes off
well you may reckon upon a similar sum to-morrow."
"I will give a faithful account of the sum to your lordship," said
Planchet, putting the bag under his arm.
"That is right; I recommend the cardinal to your attention."
"Make your mind easy, he is in good hands."
Planchet went out, the curate remaining for a moment.
"Are you satisfied, my lord?" he asked.
"Yes; he appears to be a resolute fellow."
"Well, he will do more than he has promised."
"He will do wonders then."
The curate rejoined Planchet, who was waiting for him on the stairs. Ten
minutes later the curate of St. Sulpice was announced. As soon as the
door of Gondy’s study was opened a man rushed in. It was the Count de
Rochefort.
"’Tis you, then, my dear count," cried Gondy, offering his hand.
"You have made up your mind at last, my lord?" said Rochefort.
"It has been made up a long time," said Gondy.
"Let us say no more on the subject; you tell me so, I believe you. Well,
we are going to give a ball to Mazarin."
"I hope so."
"And when will the dance begin?"
"The invitations are given for this evening," said the coadjutor, "but
the violins will not begin to play until to-morrow morning."
"You may reckon upon me and upon fifty soldiers which the Chevalier
d’Humieres has promised me whenever I need them."
"Upon fifty soldiers?"
"Yes, he is making recruits and he will lend them to me; if any are
missing when the fete is over, I shall replace them."
"Good, my dear Rochefort; but that is not all. What have you done with
Monsieur de Beaufort?"
"He is in Vendome, where he will wait until I write to him to return to
Paris."
"Write to him; now’s the time."
"You are sure of your enterprise?"
"Yes, but he must make haste; for hardly will the people of Paris have
revolted before we shall have a score of princes begging to lead them.
If he defers he will find the place of honor taken."
"Shall I send word to him as coming from you?"
"Yes certainly."
"Shall I tell him that he can count on you?"
"To the end."
"And you will leave the command to him?"
"Of the war, yes, but in politics----"
"You must know it is not his element."
"He must leave me to negotiate for my cardinal’s hat in my own fashion."
"You care about it, then, so much?"
"Since they force me to wear a hat of a form which does not become me,"
said Gondy, "I wish at least that the hat should be red."
"One must not dispute matters of taste and colors," said Rochefort,
laughing. "I answer for his consent."
"How soon can he be here?"
"In five days."
"Let him come and he will find a change, I will answer for it."
"Therefore, go and collect your fifty men and hold yourself in
readiness."
"For what?"
"For everything."
"Is there any signal for the general rally?"
"A knot of straw in the hat."
"Very good. Adieu, my lord."
"Adieu, my dear Rochefort."
"Ah, Monsieur Mazarin, Monsieur Mazarin," said Rochefort, leading off
his curate, who had not found an opportunity of uttering a single word
during the foregoing dialogue, "you will see whether I am too old to be
a man of action."
It was half-past nine o’clock and the coadjutor required half an hour to
go from the archbishop’s palace to the tower of St. Jacques de la
Boucherie. He remarked that a light was burning in one of the highest
windows of the tower. "Good," said he, "our syndic is at his post."
He knocked and the door was opened. The vicar himself awaited him,
conducted him to the top of the tower, and when there pointed to a
little door, placed the light which he had brought with him in a corner
of the wall, that the coadjutor might be able to find it on his return,
and went down again. Although the key was in the door the coadjutor
knocked.
"Come in," said a voice which he recognized as that of the mendicant,
whom he found lying on a kind of truckle bed. He rose on the entrance of
the coadjutor, and at that moment ten o’clock struck.
"Well," said Gondy, "have you kept your word with me?"
"Not exactly," replied the mendicant.
"How is that?"
"You asked me for five hundred men, did you not? Well, I have ten
thousand for you."
"You are not boasting?"
"Do you wish for a proof?"
"Yes."
There were three candles alight, each of which burnt before a window,
one looking upon the city, the other upon the Palais Royal, and a third
upon the Rue Saint Denis.
The man went silently to each of the candles and blew them out one after
the other.
"What are you doing?" asked the coadjutor.
"I have given the signal."
"For what?"
"For the barricades. When you leave this you will behold my men at work.
Only take care you do not break your legs in stumbling over some chain
or your neck by falling in a hole."
"Good! there is your money, the same sum as that you have received
already. Now remember that you are a general and do not go and drink."
"For twenty years I have tasted nothing but water."
The man took the bag from the hands of the coadjutor, who heard the
sound of his fingers counting and handling the gold pieces.
"Ah! ah!" said the coadjutor, "you are avaricious, my good fellow."
The mendicant sighed and threw down the bag.
"Must I always be the same?" said he, "and shall I never succeed in
overcoming the old leaven? Oh, misery, oh, vanity!"
"You take it, however."
"Yes, but I make hereby a vow in your presence, to employ all that
remains to me in pious works."
His face was pale and drawn, like that of a man who had just undergone
some inward struggle.
"Singular man!" muttered Gondy, taking his hat to go away; but on
turning around he saw the beggar between him and the door. His first
idea was that this man intended to do him some harm, but on the contrary
he saw him fall on his knees before him with his hands clasped.
"Your blessing, your holiness, before you go, I beseech you!" he cried.
"Your holiness!" said Gondy; "my friend, you take me for some one else."
"No, your holiness, I take you for what you are, that is to say, the
coadjutor; I recognized you at the first glance."
Gondy smiled. "And you want my blessing?" he said.
"Yes, I have need of it."
The mendicant uttered these words in a tone of such humility, such
earnest repentance, that Gondy placed his hand upon him and gave him his
benediction with all the unction of which he was capable.
"Now," said Gondy, "there is a communion between us. I have blessed you
and you are sacred to me. Come, have you committed some crime, pursued
by human justice, from which I can protect you?"
The beggar shook his head. "The crime which I have committed, my lord,
has no call upon human justice, and you can only deliver me from it by
blessing me frequently, as you have just done."
"Come, be candid," said the coadjutor, "you have not all your life
followed the trade which you do now?"
"No, my lord. I have pursued it for six years only."
"And previously, where were you?"
"In the Bastile."
"And before you went to the Bastile?"
"I will tell you, my lord, on the day when you are willing to hear my
confession."
"Good! At whatsoever hour of the day or night you may present yourself,
remember that I shall be ready to give you absolution."
"Thank you, my lord," said the mendicant in a hoarse voice. "But I am
not yet ready to receive it."
"Very well. Adieu."
"Adieu, your holiness," said the mendicant, opening the door and bending
low before the prelate.
47. The Riot.
It was about eleven o’clock at night. Gondy had not walked a hundred
steps ere he perceived the strange change which had been made in the
streets of Paris.
The whole city seemed peopled with fantastic beings; silent shadows were
seen unpaving the streets and others dragging and upsetting great
wagons, whilst others again dug ditches large enough to ingulf whole
regiments of horsemen. These active beings flitted here and there like
so many demons completing some unknown labor; these were the beggars of
the Court of Miracles--the agents of the giver of holy water in the
Square of Saint Eustache, preparing barricades for the morrow.
Gondy gazed on these deeds of darkness, on these nocturnal laborers,
with a kind of fear; he asked himself, if, after having called forth
these foul creatures from their dens, he should have the power of making
them retire again. He felt almost inclined to cross himself when one of
these beings happened to approach him. He reached the Rue Saint Honore
and went up it toward the Rue de la Ferronnerie; there the aspect
changed; here it was the tradesmen who were running from shop to shop;
their doors seemed closed like their shutters, but they were only pushed
to in such a manner as to open and allow the men, who seemed fearful of
showing what they carried, to enter, closing immediately. These men were
shopkeepers, who had arms to lend to those who had none.
One individual went from door to door, bending under the weight of
swords, guns, muskets and every kind of weapon, which he deposited as
fast as he could. By the light of a lantern the coadjutor recognized
Planchet.
The coadjutor proceeded onward to the quay by way of the Rue de la
Monnaie; there he found groups of bourgeois clad in black cloaks or
gray, according as they belonged to the upper or lower bourgeoisie. They
were standing motionless, while single men passed from one group to
another. All these cloaks, gray or black, were raised behind by the
point of a sword, or before by the barrel of an arquebuse or a musket.
On reaching the Pont Neuf the coadjutor found it strictly guarded and a
man approached him.
"Who are you?" asked the man. "I do not know you for one of us."
"Then it is because you do not know your friends, my dear Monsieur
Louvieres," said the coadjutor, raising his hat.
Louvieres recognized him and bowed. |
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