“Oh, there are plenty in Paris, cap de Bious!  I will buy a more magnificent one, and put in it a still larger diamond.”

The officer shrugged his shoulders slightly, and said, “Have you a card?”

“Certainly I have one—­or rather two.”

“One is enough, if it be the right one.”

“But it cannot be wrong—­oh, no, cap de Bious!  Is it to M. de Loignac that I have the honor of speaking?”

“It is possible,” said the officer coldly, and evidently not much charmed at the recognition.

“M. de Loignac, my compatriot?”

“I do not say no.”

“My cousin!”

“Good!  Your card?”

“Here it is;” and the Gascon drew out the half of a card, carefully cut.

“Follow me,” said De Loignac, without looking at it, “and your companions, if you have any.  We will verify the admissions.”

The Gascon obeyed, and five other gentlemen followed him.  The first was adorned with a magnificent cuirass, so marvelous in its work that it seemed as if it had come out of the hands of Benvenuto Cellini.  However, as the make of this cuirass was somewhat old-fashioned, its magnificence attracted more laughter than admiration; and it is true that no other part of the costume of the individual in question corresponded with this magnificence.  The second, who was lame, was followed by a gray-headed lackey, who looked like the precursor of Sancho Panza, as his master did of Don Quixote.  The third carried a child of ten months old in his arms, and was followed by a woman, who kept a tight grasp of his leathern belt, while two other children, one four and the other five years old, held by her dress.

The fourth was attached to an enormous sword, and the fifth, who closed the troop, was a handsome young man, mounted on a black horse.  He looked like a king by the side of the others.  Forced to regulate his pace by those who preceded him, he was advancing slowly, when he felt a sudden pull at the scabbard of his sword; he turned round, and saw that it had been done by a slight and graceful young man with black hair and sparkling eyes.

“What do you desire, monsieur?” said the cavalier.

“A favor, monsieur.”

“Speak; but quickly, I pray you, for I am waited for.”

“I desire to enter into the city, monsieur; an imperious necessity demands my presence there.  You, on your part, are alone, and want a page to do justice to your appearance.”

“Well?”

“Take me in, and I will be your page.”

“Thank you; but I do not wish to be served by any one.”

“Not even by me,” said the young man, with such a strange glance, that the cavalier felt the icy reserve in which he had tried to close his heart melting away.

“I meant to say that I could be served by no one,” said he.