“I understand,” said the child, with that jeering smile which marks especially the “gamin de Paris.” “Well, we must wait.”
They had not long to wait. Five minutes afterward Bazin set off on a full trot, urging on his horse by the blows of a parapluie, which he was in the habit of using instead of a riding whip.
Scarcely had he turned the corner of the Rue de la Juiverie when the boy rushed after him like a bloodhound on full scent.
Before ten minutes had elapsed the child returned.
“Well!” said D’Artagnan.
“Well!” answered the boy, “the thing is done.”
“Where is he gone?”
“The half-pistole is for me?”
“Doubtless, answer me.”
“I want to see it. Give it me, that I may see it is not false.”