ant mother of M'sieu'
Doltaire, and maybe no such firm breasts like Nanette--"

"Nor such an eye as has Lablanche. Well, M'sieu' Doltaire, who could
override them all, he could not kill this barbarian. And Gabord--you
know well how they fought, and the black horse and his rider came and
carried him away. Why, the young M'sieu' Duvarney had him on his knees,
the blade at his throat, and a sword flashed out from the dark--they say
it was the devil's--and took him in the ribs and well-nigh killed him."

"But what say you to Ma'm'selle Duvarney coming to him that day, and
again yesterday with Gabord?"

"Well, well, who knows, Bamboir? This morning I said to Nanette, 'Why
is't, all in one moment, you send me to the devil, and pray to meet me
in Abraham's bosom too?' What think you she answered me? Why, this, my
Bamboir: 'Why is't Adam loved his wife and swore her down before the
Lord also, all in one moment?' Why Ma'm'selle Duvarney does this or
that is not for muddy brains like ours. It is some whimsy. They say that
women are more curious about the devil than about St. Jean Baptiste.
Perhaps she got of him a magic book."

"No, no! If he had the magic Petit Albert, he would have turned us into
dogs long ago. But I do not like him. He is but thirty years, they say,
and yet his hair is white as a pigeon's wing. It is not natural. Nor did
he ever, says Gabord, do aught but laugh at everything they did to him.
The chains they put would not stay, and when he was set against the wall
to be shot, the watches stopped--the minute of his shooting passed. Then
M'sieu' Doltaire came, and said a man that could do a trick like that
should live to do another. And he did it, for M'sieu' Doltaire is gone
to the Bastile. Voyez, this Englishman is a damned heretic, and has the
wicked arts."

"But see, Bamboir, do you think he can cast spells?"

"What mean those sounds from his room?"

"So, so. But if he be a friend of the devil, La Jongleuse would not come
for him, but--"

Startled and excited, they grasped each other's arms. "But for us--for
us!"

"It would be a work of God to send him to the devil," said Bamboir in a
loud whisper. "He has given us trouble enough. Who can tell what comes
next? Those damned noises in his room, eh--eh?"

Then they whispered together, and presently I caught a fragment, by
which I understood that, as we walked near the edge of the cliff, I
should be pushed over, and they would make it appear that I ha