Mirth I'll keep, though riches fly,
While Folly's sure to linger by!
"Think you we'll get the packet?" I asked.
"Aye. I think he wants his fifty pistoles. Mordieu! it's galling to let this dog set the terms."
"Monsieur," I cried, "perhaps he'll not stir out at once. I'll run home for Vigo and his men, and we'll make the rascal disgorge."
"Now are you more zealous than honest, boy."
I was silent, abashed, and he added:
"I had not been afraid to try conclusions with him, pistols or not, were I sure that he had the packet. I believe he has, yet there is the chance that, after all, in this one particular he speaks truth. I cannot take any chances; I must get those papers for Monsieur."
"Yes, we could not have done otherwise, M. Étienne. But, monsieur, will you dare go to this inn? M. le Comte is a man in jeopardy; he may not keep rendezvous of the enemy's choosing."
"I might not keep one of Lucas's choosing. Though," he added, with a smile, "natheless, I think I should. But it is not likely this fellow knows of the warrant against me. Paris is a big place; news does not travel all over town as quickly as at St. Quentin. I think friend Peyrot has more to gain by playing fair than playing false, and appointing the cabaret of the Bonne Femme has a very open, pleasing sound. Did he mean to brain me he would scarce have set that place."
"It was not Peyrot alone I meant. But monsieur is so well known. In the streets, or at the dinner-hour, some one may see you who knows Mayenne is after you."