Kiss me, Folly; hug me, Mirth: 
     Life without you’s nothing worth!

Monsieur, can I lend you a hat?”

I had already opened the door and was holding it for my master to pass, when Peyrot picked up from the floor and held out to him a battered and dirty toque, with its draggled feather hanging forlornly over the side.  Chafed as he was, M. Etienne could not deny a laugh to the rascal’s impudence.

“I cannot rob monsieur,” he said.

“M. le Comte need have no scruple.  I shall buy me better out of his fifty pistoles.”

But M. Etienne was out in the passage, I following, banging the door after me.  We went down the stair in time to Peyrot’s lusty carolling: 

     Mirth I’ll keep, though riches fly,
     While Folly’s sure to linger by!

“Think you we’ll get the packet?” I asked.

“Aye.  I think he wants his fifty pistoles.  Mordieu! it’s galling to let this dog set the terms.”

“Monsieur,” I cried, “perhaps he’ll not stir out at once.  I’ll run home for Vigo and his men, and we’ll make the rascal disgorge.”

“Now are you more zealous than honest, boy.”

I was silent, abashed, and he added: 

“I had not been afraid to try conclusions with him, pistols or not, were I sure that he had the packet.  I believe he has, yet there is the chance that, after all, in this one particular he speaks truth.  I cannot take any chances; I must get those papers for Monsieur.”

“Yes, we could not have done otherwise, M. Etienne.  But, monsieur, will you dare go to this inn?  M. le Comte is a man in jeopardy; he may not keep rendezvous of the enemy’s choosing.”

“I might not keep one of Lucas’s choosing.  Though,” he added, with a smile, “natheless, I think I should.  But it is not likely this fellow knows of the warrant against me.  Paris is a big place; news does not travel all over town as quickly as at St. Quentin.  I think friend Peyrot has more to gain by playing fair than playing false, and appointing the cabaret of the Bonne Femme has a very open, pleasing sound.  Did he mean to brain me he would scarce have set that place.”

“It was not Peyrot alone I meant.  But monsieur is so well known.  In the streets, or at the dinner-hour, some one may see you who knows Mayenne is after you.”

“Oh, of that I must take my chance,” he made answer, no whit troubled by the warning.  “I go home now for the ransom, and I will e’en be at the pains to doff this gear for something darker.”

“Monsieur,” I pleaded, “why not stay at home to get your dues of sleep?  Vigo will bring the gold; he and I will put the matter through.”

“I ask not your advice,” he cried haughtily; then with instant softening:  “Nay, this is my affair, Felix.  I have taken it upon myself to recover Monsieur his papers.  I must carry it through myself to the very omega.”

I said no more, partly because it would have done no good, partly because, in spite of the strange word, I understood how he felt.