“Really, Schomberg,” said a third, “it is easy to see you are German. As for me, my lips bleed, and my mustachios are stiff with ice.”
“It is my hands,” said a fourth; “on my honor, I would not swear I had any.”
“You should have taken your mamma’s muff, poor Quelus,” said Schomberg.
“Eh! mon Dieu, have patience,” said a fifth voice; “you will soon be complaining you are hot.”
“I see some one coming through the Rue St. Paul,” said Quelus.
“It cannot be him; he named another route.”
“Might he not have suspected something, and changed it?”
“You do not know Bussy; where he said he should go, he would go, if he knew that Satan himself were barring his passage.”
“However, here are two men coming.”
“Ma foi! yes.”