“Come, come,” said Jeannin, surprised at such an explosion of grief from a man accustomed to duels, and who on several similar occasions had been far from displaying much tenderness of heart, “collect yourself, and don’t give way like a woman.  Perhaps the wound is not mortal.  Let us try to stop the bleeding and call for help.”

“No, no—­”

“Are you mad?”

“Don’t call, for Heaven’s sake!  The wound is here, near the heart.  Your handkerchief, Jeannin, to arrest the flow of blood.  There—­now help me to lift him.”

“What does that mean?” cried Jeannin, who had just laid his hand on the chevalier.  “I don’t know whether I’m awake or asleep!  Why, it’s a—–­”

“Be silent, on your life!  I shall explain everything—­but now be silent; there is someone looking at us.”

There was indeed a man wrapped in a mantle standing motionless some steps away.

“What are you doing here?” asked de Jars.

“May I ask what you are doing, gentlemen?” retorted Maitre Quennebert, in a calm and steady voice.

“Your curiosity may cost you dear, monsieur; we are not in the habit of allowing our actions to be spied on.”

“And I am not in the habit of running useless risks, most noble cavaliers.  You are, it is true, two against one; but,” he added, throwing back his cloak and grasping the hilts of a pair of pistols tucked in his belt, “these will make us equal.  You are mistaken as to my intentions.  I had no thought of playing the spy; it was chance alone that led me here; and you must acknowledge that finding you in this lonely spot, engaged as you are at this hour of the night, was quite enough to awake the curiosity of a man as little disposed to provoke a quarrel as to submit to threats.”

“It was chance also that brought us here.  We were crossing the square, my friend and I, when we heard groans.  We followed the sound, and found this young gallant, who is a stranger to us, lying here, with a wound in his breast.”

As the moon at that moment gleamed doubtfully forth, Maitre Quennebert bent for an instant over the body of the wounded man, and said: 

“I know him more than you.  But supposing someone were to come upon us here, we might easily be taken for three assassins holding a consultation over the corpse of our victim.  What were you going to do?”

“Take him to a doctor.  It would be inhuman to leave him here, and while we are talking precious time is being lost.”

“Do you belong to this neighbourhood?”

“No,” said the treasurer.

“Neither do I,” said Quennebert. “but I believe I have heard the name of a surgeon who lives close by, in the rue Hauteville.”

“I also know of one,” interposed de Jars, “a very skilful man.”

“You may command me.”

“Gladly, monsieur; for he lives some distance from here.”

“I am at your service.”