'Perhaps so.'
'And which way went she?' demanded both imperiously.
'My sword is drawn to answer you,' I replied, considerably ruffled by the brusquerie of their bearing.
'Stay, chevalier,' said one, laughing; 'let the poor man alone—'tis only some bourgeois seized by a fit of valour.'
'Peste, monseigneur, I see by a glance that he is no bourgeois; and where is his lantern?'
'You have drunk like a Swiss to-night, chevalier, and cannot see it.'
'Which way did our little grisette go?' said the other, unsheathing his sword with a threatening air; 'say, say, or pardieu, I will spit you like a sparrow.'
'Right,' added the other, furiously; 'morbleu! this wearies me. Run him through the body if you will—he is only an Italian scaramouche by his patois. Be quick with your work; for, sabre de bois! it will not do for you or me, to be caught brawling at night in the capital of Louis XIII. as if we were at home in Lorraine.'
'I am no Italian,' said I, pressing my blade against his; 'I am a Scottish gentleman, and shall make you pay dearly for this fanfaronade.'
'Peste!' said he, dropping his point for a moment; 'a Garde de Manche?'