“Swim, my friend,” cried the shepherd, in a voice sufficiently jeering at the moment when the chest turned over, giving a pretty little plunge like a duck.

Then Chiquon continued to proceed along the quay, as far as the Rue-du-port, St. Laudry, near the cloisters of Notre Dame.  There he noticed a house, recognised the door, and knocked loudly.

“Open,” said he, “open by order of the king.”

Hearing this an old man who was no other than the famous Lombard, Versoris, ran to the door.

“What is it?” said he.

“I am sent by the provost to warn you to keep good watch tonight,” replied Chiquon, “as for his own part he will keep his archers ready.  The hunchback who has robbed you has come back again.  Keep under arms, for he is quite capable of easing you of the rest.”

Having said this, the good shepherd took to his heels and ran to the Rue des Marmouzets, to the house where Captain Cochegrue was feasting with La Pasquerette, the prettiest of town-girls, and the most charming in perversity that ever was; according to all the gay ladies, her glance was sharp and piercing as the stab of a dagger.  Her appearance was so tickling to the sight, that it would have put all Paradise to rout.  Besides which she was as bold as a woman who has no other virtue than her insolence.  Poor Chiquon was greatly embarrassed while going to the quarter of the Marmouzets.  He was greatly afraid that he would be unable to find the house of La Pasquerette, or find the two pigeons gone to roost, but a good angel arranged there speedily to his satisfaction.  This is how.  On entering the Rue des Marmouzets he saw several lights at the windows and night-capped heads thrust out, and good wenches, gay girls, housewives, husbands, and young ladies, all of them are just out of bed, looking at each other as if a robber were being led to execution by torchlight.

“What’s the matter?” said the shepherd to a citizen who in great haste had rushed to the door with a chamber utensil in his hand.

“Oh! it’s nothing,” replied the good man.  “We thought it was the Armagnacs descending upon the town, but it’s only Mau-cinge beating La Pasquerette.”

“Where?” asked the shepherd.

“Below there, at that fine house where the pillars have the mouths of flying frogs delicately carved upon them.  Do you hear the varlets and the serving maids?”

And in fact there was nothing but cries of “Murder!  Help!  Come some one!” and in the house blows raining down and the Mau-cinge said with his gruff voice: 

“Death to the wench!  Ah, you sing out now, do you?  Ah, you want your money now, do you?  Take that—­”

And La Pasquerette was groaning, “Oh! oh!  I die!  Help!  Help!  Oh! oh!” Then came the blow of a sword and the heavy fall of a light body of the fair girl sounded, and was followed by a great silence, after which the lights were put out, servants, waiting women, roysterers, and others went in again, and the shepherd who had come opportunely mounted the stairs in company with them, but on beholding in the room above broken glasses, slit carpets, and the cloth on the floor with the dishes, everyone remained at a distance.