‘Ohé, messieurs!’ shouted Philippe, without giving the bourgeois time to recover himself. ‘The King! the King! He is coming to the pavilion.’
‘The King! the King!’ echoed the people, imagining, from Glazer’s elevated position, that he could see what was going on. Maître Picard immediately bustled through the crowd, and the mob pushing after him effectually prevented him for the time from returning; which, however, he attempted to do as soon as he found the announcement was a false alarm.
‘That was a spiteful blow, Blacquart, and, of course, done on purpose,’ continued Philippe to the Gascon, who was, with a rueful countenance, rearranging his hat. ‘Maître Picard is jealous of you.’
‘The women certainly do come to the shop very often when I am sitting in the parlour,’ replied Jean, whose temper was smoothed at once by what he considered a compliment. ‘Madame Beauchesne, the young widow of the Rue Hautefeuille, is smitten, I am sure; but, betwixt ourselves, talks to Maître Picard as a cloak to her true sentiments. Mass! what a neck and shoulders she used to display!’
‘And why does she not now, Jean?’
‘Pardieu! the curé of Saint Etienne-du-Mont attacked her suddenly during mass for going to church gorge découverte. He told her from the pulpit that such display was wrong, for priests were mortal after all. How the congregation shouted again with laughter!’
‘I will swear that you are here to captivate some of the court ladies,’ continued Theria.
‘Nay, hardly that,’ replied the Gascon conceitedly, as he cocked his hat and drew himself up as high as he could; ‘although I did fancy De Montespan eyed me as I stood by the door in the theatre. She has a goodly presence.’
Glazer was about to make some reply, calculated to draw forth a fresh outpouring of Jean’s Gascon conceit, when he was interrupted by a stranger, who advanced hastily towards the spot where Blacquart was standing, and at once addressed him. His dress was little suited to the festival. He wore large riding-boots, which were dusty, as though he had just come from a journey. His dress too was disordered, his hair carelessly arranged, and his general appearance sufficiently marked to attract attention amongst the gay crowd about him, even in the semi-obscurity of the illumination.
‘Are you on guard here, monsieur?’ he said to Blacquart, scarcely noticing his eccentric accoutrements, which might have prevented him from asking the question.