"And yet, to show the perversity of the sex," continued Barbemouche,
"that same day I saw another man kiss her, and she gave him back two
kisses for his one."
"Perhaps he was a handsome man," said the fat fellow, sagely.
"Yes," replied Barbemouche, ingenuously, "but no handsomer than I."
"At that time you were probably handsomer even than you are now," dryly
observed the gaunt man.
"You are right," said Barbemouche, "for I was young, and I did not have
this scar," and he thrust back the rim of his hat and laid his hand on
his forehead.
"In what fight with the watch did you get that?" inquired Francois.
"I got it as the Duke of Guise got his, fighting the enemies of the
church, though not in the same battle. I received mine that St.
Bartholomew's night when we made the streets of Paris flow with heretic
blood. A cursed Huguenot gave it me, but I gave him another to match
mine, and left him for the crowd to trample over."
I gave a start, recalling the incident of which I had so recently heard
the account, and which seemed the counterpart of this.
At this moment, Marianne appeared at the bend of the road. She carried
a huge wooden platter, on which were a bowl of mulled wine, some mugs,
and some cheese, bread, and scraps of cold meat. I afterward learned
that she had begun to prepare this wine some time before, thinking
that I and Blaise and the boys would want it after my return from my
search for Pierre.
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