The Forty-Five Guardsmen. Dumas Alexandre

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СКАЧАТЬ the devil are you doing with that child?" asked De Loignac.

      "He is my son, monsieur."

      "Well; put your son down. You are married, then?" – "Yes, monsieur."

      "At twenty?"

      "They marry young among us; you ought to know that, M. de Loignac, who were married at eighteen."

      "Oh!" thought De Loignac, "here is another who knows me."

      "And why should he not be married?" cried the woman advancing. "Yes, monsieur, he is married, and here are two other children who call him father, besides this great lad behind. Advance, Militor, and bow to M. de Loignac."

      A lad of sixteen, vigorous and agile, with an incipient mustache, stepped forward.

      "They are my wife's sons, monsieur."

      "In Heaven's name, your card!" cried De Loignac.

      "Lardille!" cried the Gascon to his wife, "come and help me."

      Lardille searched the pouch and pockets of her husband, but uselessly. "We must have lost it!" she cried.

      "Then I arrest you."

      The man turned pale, but said, "I am Eustache de Miradoux, and M. de St. Maline is my patron."

      "Oh!" said De Loignac, a little mollified at this name, "well, search again."

      They turned to their pockets again, and began to re-examine them.

      "Why, what do I see there, on the sleeve of that blockhead?" said De Loignac.

      "Yes, yes!" cried the father. "I remember, now, Lardille sewed it on."

      "That you might carry something, I suppose, you great lazy fellow."

      The card was looked at and found all right, and the family passed on in the same order as before.

      The fourth man advanced and gave his name as Chalabre. It was found correct, and he also entered.

      Then came M. de Carmainges. He got off his horse and presented his card, while the page hid his face by pretending to adjust the saddle.

      "The page belongs to you?" asked De Loignac.

      "You see, he is attending to my horse."

      "Pass, then."

      "Quick, my master," said the page.

      Behind these men the door was closed, much to the discontent of the crowd. Robert Briquet, meanwhile, had drawn near to the porter's lodge, which had two windows, one looking toward Paris and the other into the country. From this post he saw a man, who, coming from Paris at full gallop, entered the lodge and said, "Here I am, M. de Loignac."

      "Good. Where do you come from?"

      "From the Porte St. Victor."

      "Your number?" – "Five."

      "The cards?"

      "Here they are."

      De Loignac took them, examined them, and wrote on a slate the number five. The messenger left, and two others appeared, almost immediately. One came from the Porte Bourdelle, and brought the number four, the other from the Porte du Temple, and announced six. Then came four others. The first from the Porte St. Denis, with the number five; the next from the Porte St. Jacques, with the number three; the third from the Porte St. Honore, with the number eight; and the fourth from the Porte Montmartre, with the number four. Lastly came a messenger, from the Porte Bussy, who announced four. De Loignac wrote all these down, added them to those who had entered the Porte St. Antoine, and found the total number to be forty-five.

      "Good!" said he. "Now open the gates, and all may enter."

      The gates were thrown open, and then horses, mules, and carts, men, women, and children, pressed into Paris, at the risk of suffocating each other, and in a quarter of an hour all the crowd had vanished.

      Robert Briquet remained until the last. "I have seen enough," said he: "would it be very advantageous to me to see M. Salcede torn in four pieces? No, pardieu! Besides, I have renounced politics; I will go and dine."

      CHAPTER IV.

      HIS MAJESTY HENRI THE THIRD

      M. Friard was right when he talked of 100,000 persons as the number of spectators who would meet on the Place de Greve and its environs, to witness the execution of Salcede. All Paris appeared to have a rendezvous at the Hotel de Ville; and Paris is very exact, and never misses a fete; and the death of a man is a fete, especially when he has raised so many passions that some curse and others bless him.

      The spectators who succeeded in reaching the Place saw the archers and a large number of Swiss and light horse surrounding a little scaffold raised about four feet from the ground. It was so low as to be visible only to those immediately surrounding it, or to those who had windows overlooking the Place. Four vigorous white horses beat the ground impatiently with their hoofs, to the great terror of the women, who had either chosen this place willingly, or had been forcibly pushed there.

      These horses were unused, and had never done more work than to support, by some chance, on their broad backs the chubby children of the peasants. After the scaffold and the horses, what next attracted all looks was the principal window of the Hotel de Ville, which was hung with red velvet and gold, and ornamented with the royal arms. This was for the king. Half-past one had just struck when this window was filled. First came Henri III., pale, almost bald, although he was at that time only thirty-five, and with a somber expression, always a mystery to his subjects, who, when they saw him appear, never knew whether to say "Vive le Roi!" or to pray for his soul. He was dressed in black, without jewels or orders, and a single diamond shone in his cap, serving as a fastening to three short plumes. He carried in his hand a little black dog that his sister-in-law Marie Stuart had sent him from her prison, and on which his fingers looked as white as alabaster.

      Behind the king came Catherine de Medicis, almost bowed by age, for she might be sixty-six or sixty-seven, but still carrying her head firm and erect, and darting bitter glances from under her thick eyebrows. At her side appeared the melancholy but sweet face of the queen, Louise de Torraine. Catherine came as a triumph, she as a punishment. Behind them came two handsome young men, brothers, the eldest of whom smiled with wonderful beauty, and the younger with great melancholy. The one was Anne, duc de Joyeuse, and the other Henri de Joyeuse, comte de Bouchage. The people had for these favorites of the king none of the hatred which they had felt toward Maugiron, Quelus, and Schomberg.

      Henri saluted the people gravely; then, turning to the young men, he said, "Anne, lean against the tapestry; it may last a long time."

      "I hope so," said Catherine.

      "You think, then, that Salcede will speak, mother?"

      "God will, I trust, give this confusion to our enemies."

      Henri looked doubtful.

      "My son," said Catherine, "do I not see some tumult yonder?"

      "What clear sight you have! I believe you are right. I have such bad eyes, and yet I am not old. Yes, here comes Salcede."

      "He fears," said Catherine; "he will speak."

      "If СКАЧАТЬ