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Updated: June 14, 2025
"The page belongs to you?" asked De Loignac. "You see, he is attending to my horse." "Pass, then." "Quick, my master," said the page. Behind these men the door was closed, much to the discontent of the crowd. Robert Briquet, meanwhile, had drawn near to the porter's lodge, which had two windows, one looking toward Paris and the other into the country.
"Two fingers on the mouth, is it not?" "Yes; success attend you." "Well, monsieur page," said the man on the black horse, "are you ready?" "Here I am," replied he, jumping lightly on the horse, behind the cavalier, who immediately joined his friends who were occupied in exhibiting their cards and proving their right to enter. "Ventre de Biche!" said Robert Briquet; "what an arrival of Gascons!"
One of the groups was formed of a considerable number of citizens. They surrounded four or five of a martial appearance, whom the closing of the doors annoyed very much, as it seemed, for they cried with all their might, "The door! the door!" Robert Briquet advanced toward this group, and began to cry also, "The door! the door!"
Des schistes mêlés de parties calcaires. De la pierre calcaire pure. De larges filons de spath calcaire jaunâtre mêlés de quartz, faisant feu au briquet, et une peu d'effervescence. De la pierre calcaire pure grise, plus foncée que dans le bas. Des couches calcaires jaunâtres.
He turned, thinking that the king had sent some message to him, and great was his stupefaction to see behind him the demure face of Robert Briquet. It may be remembered that the first feeling of these two men about one another had not been exactly sympathetical. Borromée opened his mouth, and paused; and in an instant was joined by Chicot. "Corboeuf!" said Borromée.
"Perchance, my fair sir," he whispered, "there is some small vow of which I may relieve you. Might we not have some honorable debate upon the matter. Your gentle courtesy may perhaps grant me an exchange of thrusts." "Nay, nay, Sir Nigel," cried the prince, "fasten not the offence upon Sir Robert Briquet, for we are one and all bogged in the same mire.
"Ah! monsieur," said he, when he felt himself on the ground, "on the word of Jean Friard, you are a real Hercules; your name, monsieur? the name of my deliverer?" "I am called Briquet Robert Briquet, monsieur." "You have saved me, M. Briquet my wife will bless you. But apropos; mon Dieu! she will be stifled in this crowd. Ah! cursed Swiss, only good to crush people!"
Her attention was suddenly arrested by a face above the small steady flame of a briquet. It was a thin worn face, probably that of an officer recently discharged from hospital. His expression was ironic and unperturbed and his eyes flashed about the room exhibiting a lively curiosity.
Gorenflot looked at Chicot; he could not tell whether he was laughing at him or speaking seriously. Chicot rose. "Why do you rise, M. Briquet?" asked Gorenflot. "Because I am going away." "And why are you going away, when you said you would breakfast with me?" "I did not say I would; I said, perhaps." "You are angry." Chicot laughed. "I angry!" said he, "at what?
It must not be supposed that Clement showed any ill-feeling in his silence; for, on the contrary, he had appeared delighted to meet, in so unexpected a manner, his learned fencing-master, Maitre Robert Briquet, and had given him the warmest reception that could be expected from the close and rugged character of the youth. The conversation had completely ceased.
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