"That I shall have a shot in my other leg or through my head if I do not, I presume," answered Pierrot. "But don't be afraid. When you have given me a crown, I shall have taken service with you; and then you know, or ought to know, I will serve you well."
The lad, it would seem, had some reason to judge that the estimate which his companion put upon such a bond was just. Indeed, in those days the act of taking service, confirmed by earnest-money, implied much more than it does in our more enlightened times. Then a man who had thus bound himself thought himself obliged to let nobody cheat his master but himself, to feel a personal interest in his purposes and in his safety. Now, alas! we hire a man to rob us himself and help all others to rob us,—to brush our coats in the evening, and cut our throats in the morning if we have too many silver spoons. However, Master Ned put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a piece of money, which he held out to Pierrot, who seemed for a moment to hesitate to take it. "I wish I had told Jargeau I was going to quit him," he said: "not that he ever gave me a sol, but plenty of promises. How much is it, Master Ned?"
"A spur rial," replied the boy,—"worth a number of your French crowns."
"Lead us not into temptation!" cried Pierrot, taking and pocketing the money. "And now tell me what I am to do."
"All you can to make them open the gates," answered Master Ned. "You have got the word, of course?"
"Nay, 'faith, not I," replied Pierrot: "Jargeau got it this evening, but I did not think of asking. Never mind, however: all the people in Rochelle know me, and I will get in if any one can."
He was destined to be disappointed, however. In the little suburb, just before the gate, he and his companion passed a little tavern where lights were burning and people singing and making a good deal of noise; but it was in vain that Pierrot knocked at the large heavy door or shouted through a small barred aperture. No one could be made to hear; and he and Master Ned were forced to retreat to one of the cabarets of the faubourg and await the coming of daylight.
CHAPTER IV.
"Who is that boy?" said one of the early shopkeepers of Rochelle, speaking to his neighbor, who was engaged in the same laudable occupation as himself,—namely, that of opening his shop for the business of the day. At the same time he pointed out a handsome lad, well but plainly dressed, who was walking along somewhat slowly toward the better part of the city. "Who is that boy, I wonder?"