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Courthon looked at him as he might look at an impertinent lackey. "And what may that be?" he inquired, mightily contemptuous. There was a snigger from some in the crowd that pressed about them, and even Monsieur Gaubert looked askance. "Surely, sir," he began, "if I did not know you for Monsieur de Garnache " But Garnache did not let him finish.
"What could I do against four? Besides, the crowd was interfering already, and it seemed best to me to come for help. These soldiers, now " "Aye," cut in Tressan, and he turned about and called the sergeant. "This becomes my affair." And he announced his quality to Monsieur Gaubert. "I am the Lord Seneschal of Dauphiny." "I am fortunate in finding you," returned Gaubert, and bowed.
And so he stepped forward, joining Courthon and Gaubert, to insist that the combat should take place in the inn either in the common room or in the yard. But the landlord, overhearing this, protested loudly that he could not consent to it. He had his house to think of. He swore that they should not fight on his premises, and implored them in the same breath not to attempt it.
She sought to resist them now; but they dragged her back, and there was a rush of the others following through the doorway, the rear being brought up by Gaubert. "Follow presently," was his parting command to the man who still knelt upon Rabecque, and with that he vanished too. Their steps died away in the passage; a door banged in the distance.
From the Petit Pont to the rue Mouffetard, madame Gaubert was talked of for her lovely face and beautiful figure; she was the Venus of the quarter. Everybody paid court to her, but she listened to none of her own rank, for her vanity suggested that she deserved suitors of a loftier rank. Her husband was very jealous.
But at the same instant there came the soft slither of another weapon drawn, and Rabecque was forced to turn to meet the onslaught of Monsieur Gaubert. "You dirty traitor," cried the angry lackey, and that was all they left him breath to say. Strong arms gripped him from behind. The sword was wrenched from his hand.
He reached the door of the inn together with Monsieur Gaubert. Full of evil forebodings, Rabecque hailed the runner. "What has happened?" he cried. "Where is Monsieur de Garnache?" Gaubert came to a staggering halt; he groaned and wrung his hands. "Killed!" he panted, rocking himself in a passion of distress. "He has been butchered! Oh! it was horrible!"
The stranger turned, and stared at Garnache with a look of wonder that artfully changed to one of disdainful recognition. "Ah?" said he, and his eyebrows went up. "The apologetic gentleman! You said?" Garnache approached him, followed a step not only by Rabecque, but also by Monsieur Gaubert, who had sauntered out a second earlier.
"I should be very pleased, M. Mille." "Here it is, then, just as I found it in a fifteenth-century manuscript "Cecile, the wife of Nicolas Gaubert, a jeweller on the Pont-au-Change, after having led an honest and chaste life for many years, and being now past her prime, became infatuated with Jean Violle, the Countess de Maubec's page, who lived at the Hotel du Paon on the Place de Greve.
"Is there never to be an end to these preliminaries?" "But I cannot permit you to oppose yourself to a sword two inches longer than your own," cried Gaubert, almost in a temper. "Why not, if I am satisfied?" asked Garnache. "Mine is the longer reach; thus matters will stand equal." "Equal?" roared Gaubert.
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