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A sentinel started out from the quoin of a wall to stop us, but when we had told our errand he became as friendly as a brother. He went across the road into a neighbouring tournebride to report to the officer of the guard, and came back presently with a torch and the order to take us to the Duke of St. Quentin's lodging. It was near an hour after midnight, and St. Denis was in bed.
So M. Étienne went into the tournebride and washed his face. And that was all the toilet he made for audience with the greatest king in the world. "You'll ride to Monsieur's," he commanded me, when the captain answered: "No; he goes with you, monsieur, if he's the boy Choux, Troux, whatever it is." "Broux Félix Broux!" I cried, a-quiver. "That's it. You go to the king, too. Another luck-child."
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