"You Parisians are a remarkable set!" exclaimed Humphreys as we walked along; "I believe you would dance on the edge of a mine."
"Till the explosion occurred!" laughed Raoul. "Did you notice the folks in that carriage, Albert? One was your friend Lautrec; he still follows Condé's fortunes. Ah! there goes Marshal Turenne!"
"A fine general!" remarked Humphreys. "Why doesn't the Queen give him the command of the army? He would make short work of Condé."
"Wait till the prince draws the sword," said Raoul, "and we shall see. Have you forgotten that at present we are all friends?"
The Englishman declared it was scarcely worth remembering, as, in a day or two, we were just as likely to be enemies, and I thought there was a considerable amount of truth in his remark.
We wandered along slowly, chatting together, but scanning the faces of the passers-by and keeping a sharp look-out for Pillot. There was, however, no sign of him, and I had just suggested going straight to the inn, when Raoul, suddenly taking a man by the arm, exclaimed, "François? How lucky! Why, you are just the fellow we want!" and turning round I saw that he was addressing the amiable spy of the Rue Crillon.
François gazed at us with a beaming smile. He was not a bad-hearted fellow, and bore no malice in spite of all that had passed.
"Where are your friends?" asked Raoul. "You should not be alone on such a night as this. Where have you left Pillot?"
"Pillot?" echoed François wonderingly. "I have not seen him for weeks; he is in the country somewhere."
"Oh, now, François, you are making fun of us! We know that our friend Pillot is in Paris."