“Goujon wished to have at hand some one upon whom he could rely,” Pasdeloup added quietly. “He promised them that he would have agreeable work for them, and that they should be well repaid, or they would never have consented to leave Paris.”
“What are they doing down yonder?”
“They are watching the door to the tower.”
“Well, let them watch it. We shall not open it, and they can never break it down.”
“I would not be too certain of that, monsieur,” said Pasdeloup, gloomily. “They have learned many things at Paris. Goujon boasted that even unarmed the people had taken a great prison called the Bastille—but most probably he was lying.”
“No,” said his master in a low tone, “in that particular, at least, he spoke the truth. But miracles do not repeat themselves.”
“They no doubt have other means at command,” responded Pasdeloup grimly, “without calling in the aid of the good God.”
“No doubt they have,” agreed his master; “but at least we can reduce the number of these assassins;” and he drew his pistols.
But Pasdeloup laid a warning hand upon his arm.
“Not yet, monsieur,” he said. “I may be mistaken. Perhaps there is yet a chance. Perhaps those others will refuse to join them. Perhaps they will grow weary after a time and depart for home, content with such plunder as they can carry away. But if we begin the attack they will be on fire in a moment.”