In his hands were a pair of horse-pistols.
"I will sell my life dearly!" he cried; "and--" "Softly, Abbe, softly," said his pupil, taking his arm; "we are friends." "Ah, my son, is it you ?" said the good man, letting fall his pistols, which were picked up by a domestic, also armed to the teeth.

"What do you here?
The abomination has entered the town, and I only await the night to depart.

Make haste within, my dear boy, with your people.

I took you for the archers of Laubardemont, and, faith, I intended to take a part somewhat out of my line.

You see the horses in the courtyard there; they will convey me to Italy, where I shall rejoin our friend, the Duc de Bouillon.