c excitement was at its height. He therefore remained on horseback
with his four servants in a small, dark street that led into the main
thoroughfare, whence he could see all that passed. No one at first paid
any attention to him; but when public curiosity had no other aliment, he
became an object of general interest. Weary of so many strange scenes,
the inhabitants looked upon him with some exasperation, and whispered to
one another, asking whether this was another exorcist come among them.
Feeling that it was time to take a decided course, he advanced with his
attendants, hat in hand, toward the group in black of whom we have
spoken, and addressing him who appeared its chief member, said,
"Monsieur, where can I find Monsieur l'Abbe Quillet?"

At this name, all regarded him with an air of terror, as if he had
pronounced that of Lucifer. Yet no anger was shown; on the contrary, it
seemed that the question had favorably changed for him the minds of all
who heard him. Moreover, chance had served him well in his choice; the
Comte du Lude came up to his horse, and saluting him, said, "Dismount,
Monsieur, and I will give you some useful information concerning him."

After speaking a while in whispers, the two gentlemen separated with all
the ceremonious courtesy of the time. Cinq-Mars remounted his black
horse, and passing through numerous narrow streets, was soon out of the
crowd with his retinue.

"How happy I am!" he soliloquized, as he went his way; "I shall, at all
events, for a moment see the good and kind clergyman who brought me up;
even now I recall his features, his calm air, his voice so full of
gentleness."

As these tender thoughts filled his mind, he found himself in the small,
dark street which had been indicated to him; it was so narrow that the
knee-pieces of his boots touched the wall on each side. At the end of the
street he came to a one-storied wooden house, and in his eagerness
knocked at the door with repeated strokes.

"Who is there?" cried a furious voice within; and at the same moment, the
door opening revealed a little short, fat man, with a very red face,
dressed in black, with a large white ruff, and riding-boots which
engulfed his short legs in their vast depths. In his hands were a pair of
horse-pistols.

"I will sell my life dearly!" he cried; "and--"

"Softly, Abbe, softly," said his pupil, taking his arm; "we are friends."

"Ah, my son, is it you?" said the good man, letting fall his