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The third was a man of action, a combatant, a bold and impatient executive, breathing fire and steel. He was addressed by the others as Captain Desrolles. This man struck the table with his fist, and said, with controlled violence: "To-night. To-night as he goes to midnight mass. I am tired of the plotting that gets nowhere. I am sick of signals and ciphers and secret meetings and such baragouin.
The noise of conflict attracted the force of Captain Tetreau, and they came pelting down the street to the rescue. But, in the meantime, the desperate Desrolles had torn open the door of the king's carriage, thrust his weapon against the body of the dark figure inside, and fired.
When the royal carriage had reached the Rue Christopher, one square nearer than the Rue Esplanade, forth from it burst Captain Desrolles, with his band of would-be regicides, and assailed the equipage. The guards upon the carriage, though surprised at the premature attack, descended and fought valiantly.
Mr. Keith, in pursuance of this notice, set out from Vienna on the twenty-ninth of July; as did also Mr. Desrolles, his Britannic majesty's minister at the court of Brussels, from this last place, about the same time.
"Dear captain," he said, in a great voice, softened by habit, "this time I agree with you. Nothing is to be gained by waiting. Enough of the palace guards belong to us to make the endeavour a safe one." "To-night," repeated Captain Desrolles, again striking the table. "You have heard me, marquis; my hand will do the deed." "But now," said the huge man, softly, "comes a question.
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