By this time Barbemouche and gaunt Francois had added their breathings to
the somnolent choir.
"You are a mighty drinker, monsieur," I said to De Berquin, admiringly,
at the same time refilling my own mug.
"Ask of the cabaret keepers of Paris whether the Vicomte de Berquin can
hold his share of the good red vine-juice!" he replied, jubilantly,
dipping his mug again into the pot.
I took a gulp from my mug and pretended to choke. In one of my
convulsive movements, I threw the contents of my mug into the eyes of De
Berquin. I followed it an instant later with the mug itself, and he fell
back on the grass, half-stunned. In the moment when his grasp of my arm
was relaxed, I slipped away from him, narrowly missing the wild dagger
stroke that he made at me. A second later and I was on my feet. My first
act was to possess the weapons of Barbemouche and Francois, these two
being nearest me. I then ran towards the inn, calling at the top of my
voice, "Blaise! To arms!"
Behind me I heard De Berquin, who had risen, kicking the prostrate bodies
of his men and crying:
"Up, you drunken dogs! We have been fooled! After him!"
Then I heard him running after me on the road, swearing terribly.
From the place where he had left his men, I could hear them confusedly
swearing and questioning one another, all having been rudely awakened
from sleep, two of them being unable to find their weapons, and none
knowing rightly what had occurred or exactly where their leader had gone.
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