“You speak loudly, monsieur,” said the cavalier.

“I speak as I please; so much the worse for those who dislike it.”

“More calmly,” said a voice at once soft and imperative, of which Briquet vainly sought the owner.

The cavalier seemed to make an effort over himself, and then said quietly to the Gascon, “Do you know him of whom you speak?”

“Salcede?”—­“Yes.”

“Not in the least.”

“And the Duc de Guise?”

“Still less.”

“Well, then, Salcede is a brave man.”

“So much the better:  he will die bravely.”

“And know that, when the Duc de Guise wishes to conspire, he conspires for himself.”

“What do I care?”

“What!”

“Mayneville!  Mayneville!” murmured the same voice.

“Yes, mordieu! what do I care?” continued the Gascon, “I came to Paris on business, and find the gates closed on account of this execution—­that is all I care for.”

At this moment there was a sound of trumpets.  The Swiss had cleared the middle of the road, along which a crier proceeded, dressed in a flowered tunic, and bearing on his breast a scutcheon on which was embroidered the arms of Paris.  He read from a paper in his hand the following proclamation: 

“This is to make known to our good people of Paris and its environs, that its gates will be closed for one hour, and that none can enter during that time; and this by the will of the king and the mayor of Paris.”

The crowd gave vent to their discontent in a long hoot, to which, however, the crier seemed indifferent.  The officer commanded silence, and when it was obtained, the crier continued: 

“All who are the bearers of a sign of recognition, or are summoned by letter or mandate, are exempt from this rule.  Given at the hotel of the provost of Paris, 26th of October, 1585.”

Scarcely had the crier ceased to speak, when the crowd began to undulate like a serpent behind the line of soldiers.

“What is the meaning of this?” cried all.

“Oh! it is to keep us out of Paris,” said the cavalier, who had been speaking in a low voice to his companions.  “These guards, this crier, these bars, and these trumpets are all for us; we ought to be proud of them.”

“Room!” cried the officer in command; “make room for those who have the right to pass!”

“Cap de Bious!  I know who will pass, whoever is kept out!” said the Gascon, leaping into the cleared space.  He walked straight up to the officer who had spoken, and who looked at him for some moments in silence, and then said: 

“You have lost your hat, it appears, monsieur?”

“Yes, monsieur.”

“Is it in the crowd?”

“No.  I had just received a letter from my sweetheart, and was reading it, cap de Bious! near the river, about a mile from here, when a gust of wind carried away both my letter and my hat.  I ran after the letter, although the button of my hat was a single diamond; I caught my letter, but my hat was carried by the wind into the middle of the river.  It will make the fortune of the poor devil who finds it.”—­“So that you have none?”