United States or Argentina ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Mother Villon, her simple curiosity easily satisfied, dropped her informant a curtsey and hobbled slowly up the steps into the church. Petit-Jean stretched himself again and yawned. "I'll to sleep and dream of hanging a king." Trois-Echelles put a lean finger to his lean chin. "Treason, friend, if Tristan heard you." Petit-Jean's eyes twinkled. "Well, let's say an archbishop," he said.
Any good citizen of Paris, arising belated, if any such there may have been, and hurrying to the walls to know how things went for the king's cause, would have recognized readily enough in these two strange opposites two of the most dreaded of the myrmidons of Tristan l'Hermite, no less than his two chief hangmen, Trois-Echelles and Petit-Jean.
"All Paris is on the walls watching the battle. Lucky Paris!" Trois-Echelles laughed ill-humoredly. "Not so lucky if we don't win the battle." Petit-Jean was complacent. "Whichever wins will need us to hang the losers. Look at the bright side, man." Trois-Echelles fumbled his beads furtively. "I've lost heart, I tell you. I haven't hanged a man for a week."
"They say he is banished, but he has sent me money, bless him! though I touch none of it, lest it be badly come by." Trois-Echelles stopped fumbling his beads and advanced towards her, extending his hand. "Give it to me to spend on masses?" he asked sanctimoniously. Petit-Jean danced between them. "Lend it to me for drink money," he urged. The old woman paid no heed to their proposals.
The ladies and gentlemen of the court ranged themselves in their places behind the royal pair and the Scottish archers formed a solid force in front. Through the open gateway came a few running, shouting enthusiasts, outstrippers of the mass of citizens who were returning from the walls. Even the heavy sleep of Trois-Echelles and Petit-Jean was not proof against all this tumult.
Trois-Echelles nodded approvingly. "An archbishop ought to make a good end." His mind pleased itself with the picture of so high a dignitary of the church in his full canonicals coming under his tender care and being exhorted by his pious counsels.
Trois-Echelles, making gestures of protestation with his head but taking the bottle with his hand none the less, drew a deep draught from its throttle and sighed as sadly as his friend sighed gladly. "I will drink but I cannot be merry. What's the good of building a noble gallows if nobody looks at it? One might as well be building a church." Petit-Jean laughed good-naturedly.
Trois-Echelles was the long, cadaverous hangman; Petit-Jean was the stout, droll hangman, but when it came to a push and a pinch, both were hangmen and hung in the same manner, if not with the same manners.
Word Of The Day