"They call me a fool," Monsieur went on musingly, "because I risk my life in wild errands. But, mordieu! I am the wise man. For they who think ever of safety, and crouch and scheme and shuffle to procure it, why, look you, they destroy their own ends. For, when all is done, they have never really lived. And that is why they hate death so, these worthies. While I, who have never cringed to fear, I live like a king. I go my ways without any man's leave; and if death comes to me a little sooner for that, I am a poor creature if I do not meet him smiling. If I may live as I please, I am content to die when I must."
"Aye," said M. Étienne, "and if we live as we do not please, still we must die presently. Therefore do I purpose never to give over striving after my lady."
"Oh, we'll win her by noon. But first we'll sleep. There's Félix yawning his head off. Come, come."
We set off along the alley, the St. Quentins arm in arm, I at their heels. Monsieur looked over his shoulder with a sudden anxiety.
"Félix, you said Huguet had run for aid?"
"Yes, Monsieur; Vigo should have been here before now," I answered, remembering Vigo's promptitude yesterday.
"Every one was asleep; he has been hammering this half-hour to get in," M. Étienne said easily.
But Monsieur asked of me:
"Was he much hurt, Félix?"
"No; I am sure not, Monsieur. He was run through the arm; I am sure he was not hurt otherwise."