“Entirely.”
“And you will not compromise yourself?”
“I will not even make my appearance.”
“Are they men of resolution?”
“They would burn Paris, if I promised them they should not be burnt in turn.”
“The thing I ask of you, abbe,” said Fouquet, wiping the sweat which fell from his brow, “is to throw your hundred and twenty men upon the people I will point out to you, at a certain moment given—is it possible?”
“It will not be the first time such a thing has happened to them, monseigneur.”
“That is well: but would these bandits attack an armed force?”
“They are used to that.”
“Then get your hundred and twenty men together, abbe.”