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Updated: May 2, 2025
"Miela," I whispered, "surely that that is no one of your world." Her hand clutched my arm tightly as the man stepped forward again and waved at us. I crossed the rooftop, Miela following. At my sudden motion the man hesitated, then seemed about to run. I hardly know what thoughts impelled me, but suddenly I shouted: "Wait!"
"Look!" cried he, "there's the band of the Chaussee Clignancourt, disguised as bears with drums, putting on a show." He remained crouching before the window, as though he had been watching a procession in a street, from some rooftop. "There's the cavalcade, lions and panthers making grimaces there's brats dressed up as dogs and cats there's tall Clemence, with her wig full of feathers. Ah!
"Outlaws do, when it pays," Anse shot out grimly. But on a second hail from the rooftop sentry post Rennie swung the rifle over his arm and faced the outer gate of the patio. "Unbar, Francisco!" he called in Spanish. One leaf of the massive door folded back to allow in a small party of horsemen. One saddled but riderless mount galloped along with the rest.
But "Here we are," Hawkes said, nudging him. The door in the Overshoot's side opened and they got out quickly. They were on another rooftop. Ten minutes later they stood outside an immense building whose walls were sleek slabs of green pellucite, shining with a radiant inner warmth of their own. The building must have been a hundred stories high, or more. It terminated in a burnished spire.
I heard them fiddling with the door of the dovecote and for one horrid moment I fancied they were coming up. Then they thought better of it, and went back to the house. All that long blistering afternoon I lay baking on the rooftop. Thirst was my chief torment. My tongue was like a stick, and to make it worse I could hear the cool drip of water from the mill-lade.
There was a brief silence; and, involuntarily, the gossips stretched over the table to catch sight of the house of so demoniac an oppressor of the poor. "See," said the baker, "the smoke still curls from the rooftop! I heard he had come back. Old Madge, his handmaid, has bought cimnel-cakes of me the last week or so; nothing less than the finest wheat serves him now, I trow.
The establishment of Charles V in no way satisfying the artistic ambitions of Francis I, that monarch gave the task of reconstruction to the architect Pierre Chambiges, in 1539, preserving only the Saint Chapelle of Saint Louis and the donjon. The building must have gone forward with an extreme rapidity for at the architect's death, in 1544, it had reached nearly the level of the rooftop.
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