The two soldiers dropped their halberds and rushed upon the old man, but, tall and strong as they were, they found it no easy matter to secure him.  With his long sinewy arms and his wiry frame, he shook himself clear of them again and again, and it was only when his breath had failed him that the two, torn and panting, were able to twist round his wrists, and so secure him.  They had hardly won their pitiful victory, however, before a stern voice and a sword flashing before their eyes, compelled them to release their prisoner once more.

It was Captain de Catinat, who, his morning duties over, had strolled out on to the terrace, and had come upon this sudden scene of outrage.  At the sight of the old man’s face he gave a violent start, and drawing his sword, had rushed forward with such fury that the two guardsmen not only dropped their victim, but, staggering back from the threatening sword-point, one of them slipped and the other rolled over him, a revolving mass of blue coat and white kersey.

“Villains!” roared De Catinat.  “What is the meaning of this?”

The two had stumbled on to their feet again, very shamefaced and ruffled.

“If you please, captain,” said one, saluting, “this is a Huguenot who abused the royal guard.”

“His petition had been rejected by the king, captain, and yet he refused to go.”

De Catinat was white with fury.  “And so, when a French citizen has come to have a word with the great master of his country, he must be harassed by two Swiss dogs like you?” he cried.  “By my faith, we shall soon see about that!”

He drew a little silver whistle from his pocket, and at the shrill summons an old sergeant and half a dozen soldiers came running from the guard-room.

“Your names?” asked the captain sternly.

“Andre Meunier.”

“And yours?”

“Nicholas Klopper.”

“Sergeant, you will arrest these men, Meunier and Klopper.”

“Certainly, captain,” said the sergeant, a dark grizzled old soldier of Conde and Turenne.

“See that they are tried to-day.”

“And on what charge, captain?”

“For assaulting an aged and respected citizen who had come on business to the king.”

“He was a Huguenot on his own confession,” cried the culprits together.

“Hum!” The sergeant pulled doubtfully at his long moustache.  “Shall we put the charge in that form, captain?  Just as the captain pleases.”  He gave a little shrug of his epauletted shoulders to signify his doubt whether any good could arise from it.

“No,” said De Catinat, with a sudden happy thought.  “I charge them with laying their halberds down while on duty, and with having their uniforms dirty and disarranged.”

“That is better,” answered the sergeant, with the freedom of a privileged veteran.  “Thunder of God, but you have disgraced the guards!  An hour on the wooden horse with a musket at either foot may teach you that halberds were made for a soldier’s hand, and not for the king’s grass-plot.  Seize them!  Attention!  Right half turn!  March!”