Inflamed with anger and alarm, and irresolute whether to fight, fly, or yield, I still kept my point towards him.
'Mere musketeers have not status sufficient to arrest a gentleman of the Scottish Guard;—we rank with field-officers of the French line,' said I.
'M. Blane forgets that I am noble.'
'By marriage with a lady descended from Joan of Arc's family; but you forget, my dear M. Brissac, that by the edict of Louis XIII., (whose agreeable warrant you bear,) passed in 1614, "females descended from La Pucelle, shall no longer ennoble their husbands," so that heraldic force is at an end.'
'Pardieu! beat him down, messieurs, with the butts of your muskets, for I am weary of this!' exclaimed de Brissac, with sudden passion; and finding, on reflection, the danger and futility of further resistance, I surrendered my weapon, saying, with a lightness, I was far from feeling,
'Here is my spit—but pray be careful of it, for a dainty demoiselle's pink glove, is, or should be at the shell of it.'
'Little Babette's of the Fleur-de-lis, in the Rue d'Ecosse, I presume,' said he, scornfully; but as Marion de l'Orme usually wore pink gloves, he shook with rage, as he thrust me into the carriage and took his place beside me. The fiacre was put in motion; the musketeers ran at a double quick march on each side of it, which dispelled my first idea that they meant to assassinate me; and as we drove on, I taxed my memory in vain for any offence or crime I might have committed.
'Oh—you are angry at finding me at little De l'Orme's, perhaps?' said I.
'What care I for Mademoiselle de l'Orme?' said he; 'who is her lover now?'
'Rumour says a certain M. de Brissac—but I know 'tis the young Marquis de Toneins.'