te above him, and
recognized his sardonic smile; then, on the steps of the corkscrew
staircase, he saw Cornelius, his sister, and behind them the provost
guard. At that sight, and observing the diabolical faces expressing
either hatred or curiosity of persons whose business it was to hang
others, the so-called Philippe Goulenoire sat up on his pallet and
rubbed his eyes.

"Mort-Dieu!" he cried, seizing his dagger, which was under the pillow.
"Now is the time to play our knives."

"Ho, ho!" cried Tristan, "that's the speech of a noble. Methinks I see
Georges d'Estouteville, the nephew of the grand master of the archers."

Hearing his real name uttered by Tristan, young d'Estouteville thought
less of himself than of the dangers his recognition would bring upon his
unfortunate mistress. To avert suspicion he cried out:--

"Ventre-Mahom! help, help to me, comrades!"

After that outcry, made by a man who was really in despair, the young
courtier gave a bound, dagger in hand, and reached the landing. But the
myrmidons of the grand provost were accustomed to such proceedings. When
Georges d'Estouteville reached the stairs they seized him dexterously,
not surprised by the vigorous thrust he made at them with his dagger,
the blade of which fortunately slipped on the corselet of a guard; then,
having disarmed him, they bound his hands, and threw him on the pallet
before their leader, who stood motionless and thoughtful.

Tristan looked silently at the prisoner's hands, then he said to
Cornelius, pointing to them:--

"Those are not the hands of a beggar, nor of an apprentice. He is a
noble."

"Say a thief!" cried the torconnier. "My good Tristan, noble or serf, he
has ruined me, the villain! I want to see his feet warmed in your pretty
boots. He is, I don't doubt it, the leader of that gang of devils,
visible and invisible, who know all my secrets, open my locks, rob me,
murder me! They have grown rich out of me, Tristan. Ha! this time we
shall get back the treasure, for the fellow has the face of the king of
Egypt. I shall recover my dear rubies, and all the sums I have lost; and
our worthy king shall have his share in the harvest."

"Oh, our hiding-places are much more secure than yours!" said Georges,
smiling.

"Ha! the damned thief, he confesses!" cried the miser.

The grand provost was engaged in attentively examining Georges
d'Estouteville's clothes and the lock of the door.

"How did you get out those screws?