“Put a bold face on it and leave it to me,” said Dubois; and the next moment they found themselves among half a dozen men clustered by the gate. “It is a fine prison, friend Pierre, but I don’t envy you your warding,” said Dubois aloud, in an easy tone, as he reached the bottom. “And these men, who are they—the guard?”
At the sound of his voice the soldiers looked round, and two of them drew themselves up instantly and saluted. With intense satisfaction Dubois recognized them as his own men, returned the salute, and addressed them.
“On guard, Vauchamp, and you, Dentelle, learning your new duties? Good. Open the gate, Pierre.”
“Who is this, Pierre?” demanded the sergeant in command.
“What, don’t you know your own officers, Vauban?” returned Pierre, in a surly tone. “Out of the way and let me obey my orders.”
“Not so fast, surly-tongue,” growled the man angrily. “No one passes here.”
“Surly-tongue yourself, you uncivil beast,” returned Pierre, and as if with sudden passion, he dealt him a blow on the head which sent him reeling to one side, and thrust the key in the lock.
Recovering his surprise and furious at the blow, the man sprang at Pierre to be met with the butt end of Dubois’ musket full in the face.
“Back, you mutinous dog,” cried Dubois, in a voice of command, as the man fell stunned and bleeding. “Is this the way you Castle men treat your officers? You know better at least,” he said to his own men. “See that there’s no more of this mutiny. Bring down the visitors, Pierre.”
But there was no need to fetch them, for Gerard at the first sound of trouble had hurried down with Gabrielle.