"I never liked his sneaking face."

A sentry called, another, and still another.

"Are you there, Paul?"

No answer.

"You're as surly as a papoose!"

Soon after that there was nothing to be heard but the deep and regular
breathing of two healthy men resting in sleep.

Some fourteen gentlemen sat around the governor's table the third
Friday night. There were the governor and his civic staff and his
officers, three or four merchants, and two priests, Brother Jacques and
Dollier de Casson, that brother to Rabelais, with his Jove-like smile
and his Herculean proportions. De Casson had arrived that day from
Three Rivers, and he had come for aid.

Two chairs were vacant, and presently the vicomte filled one of them.
The other was reserved for the Chevalier.

Victor was telling some amusing tales of the court; how Beaufort was
always blundering, how Mazarin was always saving, how Louis was always
making love, and how the queen was always praying.

"Ah, Monsieur de Saumaise," said the governor, "you must not tell jests
at the expense of their Majesties; Mazarin I do not mind, for he is