"You may command me."
"Gladly, monsieur; for he lives some distance from here."
"I am at your service."
De Jars and Jeannin raised the chevalier's shoulders, and the stranger supported his legs, and carrying their burden in this order, they set off.
They walked slowly, looking about them carefully, a precaution rendered necessary by the fact that the moon now rode in a cloudless sky. They glided over the Pont Saint-Michel between the houses that lined both sides, and, turning to the right, entered one of the narrow streets of the Cite, and after many turnings, during which they met no one, they stopped at the door of a house situated behind the Hotel-de-Ville.
"Many thanks, monsieur," said de Jars,—"many thanks; we need no further help."
As the commander spoke, Maitre Quennebert let the feet of the chevalier fall abruptly on the pavement, while de Jars and the treasurer still supported his body, and, stepping back two paces, he drew his pistols from his belt, and placing a finger on each trigger, said—
"Do not stir, messieurs, or you are dead men." Both, although encumbered by their burden, laid their hands upon their swords.
"Not a movement, not a sound, or I shoot."
There was no reply to this argument, it being a convincing one even for two duellists. The bravest man turns pale when he finds himself face to face with sudden inevitable death, and he who threatened seemed to be one who would, without hesitation, carry out his threats. There was nothing for it but obedience, or a ball through them as they stood.