"Those are no more the hands of a robber than those of an apprentice. He is of noble birth."
"Say rather of ignoble earth," cried the Fleming, dolefully. "My good Tristan, whether he be noble or base-born, the villain has undone me. I would I might see him at this moment with his hands and feet toasting, or fitted into your neat little boots. He is beyond a doubt the captain of the invisible legion of devils who know all my secrets, open all my locks, rob me, and kill me by inches. They are rich by now, my friend. Ah! But this time we will have their treasure, for this fellow looks like the King of Egypt. I shall get back my precious rubies and vast sums of money; our good King shall have his hands full of crowns."
"Oh, our hiding-places are safer than yours!" said Georges, smiling.
"Ah, the damned villain, he confesses!" exclaimed the miser.
The Provost Marshal, meanwhile, had been examining the prisoner's clothes and the lock.
"Was it you who unscrewed all those rivets?"
Georges made no reply.
"Oh, very well; hold your tongue if you like. You will confess presently to Saint-Rack-bones," said Tristan.
"Ah, now you talk sense!" cried Cornélius.
"Lead him away," said the Provost.