Looking thither,
I saw two of my men, Sabray and Roquelin, conducting into the courtyard
three starved-looking persons, who leaned wearily on one another's
shoulders, and seemed ready to drop with fatigue.
"We found these wretches in the woods," explained Sabray. "They are
Catholics, although that one tried to hide his cross and shouted, 'Down
with the mass!' when we told them to surrender in the name of the Sieur
de la Tournoire."
"It is true that I was a Catholic," whined the bedraggled fop who had
belonged to De Berquin's band of four; "but I was just about to abjure
when these men came up."
"I will abjure twice over, if it pleases monsieur," put in the tall
Spanish-looking ruffian. "Nothing would delight me more than to be a
Huguenot. By the windpipe of the Pope, for a flagon of wine I would
be a Jew!"
"And I a damned infidel Turk," wearily added their fat comrade, "for a
roast fowl, and a place to lay my miserable body!"
At this moment the fop's eyes fell on Blaise.
"Saint Marie!" he cried, falling to his knees. "We are dead men. It is
the big fellow we trussed up at the inn!"
"Belly of Beelzebub, so it is!" bellowed Blaise, pulling out his sword.
Turning to Jeannotte, who had just reappeared in the courtyard, he
roared: "It is now my father's spirit that controls me!"
Whereupon he fell to belaboring the three poor, weary, hungry, thirsty
rascals with the flat of his sword, till all of them yelled in concert.
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