"
"Would I had your body to fill with wine, Antoine," said Francois,
longingly; and then, casting an unhappy look at the inn, he added, "and
the wine to fill it with."
"What are you shaking for, Jacques?" asked fat Antoine of his slim
comrade at his side. "One would think you were afraid. Haven't you told
us that love of fighting was the one passion of your life?"
"Death of the devil, so it is!" replied Jacques in a soft voice, and
with a lisp worthy of one of the King's painted minions. "That is what
annoys me, for if this insignificant matter should come to a fight, and I
should accidentally be killed in so obscure an affair, how could I ever
again indulge my passion for fighting?"
Meanwhile, Barbemouche had gone to the door and cautiously opened it, no
one having barred it after my departure from the kitchen. I could hear
the sound of Blaise's superb snoring, mingled with the less resonant
efforts of the old couple. Barbemouche surveyed as much of the kitchen as
the moonlight disclosed to him. Then he quietly shut the door and turned
to his fellows.
"It is well," he said. "The gentleman himself is snoring his lungs away
just inside the door. There is another room, and it is there that the
women must be. The others are probably in the shed. Let us go quietly, as
it would not be polite to disturb their sleep."
Whereupon Barbemouche led the way back to the woods, followed by fat
Antoine, who toiled puffingly, Jacques, who stepped daintily and seemed
fearful of treading on stones and briars, and last of all Francois, who
moved at a measured pace, with long strides, retaining his air of
profound meditation.
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