"Hand me one of my pistols," I said to Bard.
"What for?"
"Pass it, quick."
"You aren't going to blow his brains out?"
"I am, indeed!"
"They are not loaded."
"I am going to load them."
Bard gazed at me in terror.
I put a percussion cap on each nipple and rammed a wad down the centre of each barrel. I had just finished the operation when the carriage pulled up, and the postillion got down, swearing, to unfasten the traces, as he had threatened, lifting up his legs one after the other heavily in their great boots. I waited for him, pistol in hand.
"Look here, Levasseur," I said, "if you touch those traces I shall smash your head for you."