and friendship; and then all of a sudden, on the 17th of May, an alarm
sprang up, the Prior picked up his skirts and walked quietly over to the
Chatelet to make a deposition, and the whole band took to their heels
and vanished out of Paris and the sight of the police.

Vanish as they like, they all go with a clog about their feet. Sooner or
later, here or there, they will be caught in the fact, and ignominiously
sent home. From our vantage of four centuries afterwards, it is odd and
pitiful to watch the order in which the fugitives are captured and
dragged in.

Montigny was the first. In August of that same year he was laid by the
heels on many grievous counts--sacrilegious robberies, frauds,
incorrigibility, and that bad business about Thevenin Pensete in the
house by the Cemetery of St. John. He was reclaimed by the
ecclesiastical authorities as a clerk; but the claim was rebutted on the
score of incorrigibility, and ultimately fell to the ground; and he was
condemned to death by the Provost of Paris. It was a very rude hour for
Montigny, but hope was not yet over. He was a fellow of some birth; his
father had been king's pantler; his sister, probably married to some one
about the Court, was in the family way, and her health would be
endangered if the execution was proceeded with. So down comes Charles
the Seventh with letters of mercy, commuting the penalty to a year in a
dungeon on bread and water, and a pilgrimage to the shrine of St. James
in Galicia. Alas! the document was incomplete; it did not contain the
full tale of Montigny's enormities; it did not recite that he had been
denied benefit of clergy, and it said nothing about Thevenin Pensete.
Montigny's hour was at hand. Benefit of clergy, honourable descent from
king's pantler, sister in the family way, royal letters of
commutation--all were of no avail. He had been in prison in Rouen, in
Tours, in Bordeaux, and four times already in Paris; and out of all
these he had come scatheless; but now he must make a little excursion as
far as Montfaucon with Henry Cousin, executor of high justice. There let
him swing among the carrion crows.

About a year later, in July 1458, the police laid hands on Tabary.
Before the ecclesiastical commissary he was twice examined, and, on the
latter occasion, put to the question ordinary and extraordinary. What a
dismal change from pleasant suppers at the Mule, where he sat in triumph
with expert operators and great wits! He is