"Mon Dieu!" the man said, raising his hand to his forehead and brushing it across the latter, "we know our business, monsieur; no need to instruct us in it. Though as for killing, that is not our account as a rule----"
"Peace," interrupted Desparre, "here is the reward. Hold out your hand."
The man did as he was bid, and, in the light of a seven nights' old moon that, by now, overtopped the roofs of the houses, Desparre counted out twenty gold louis' d'or (rare enough at that moment, when all France was deluged with worthless paper; coins to be kept carefully and made much of!) into his hand, and twenty more into the hands of the principal exempt. Yet his own hand shook so that each of the vagabonds raised his eyes to his face and then withdrew them swiftly. They liked the look of the money better than the appearance of the features of the man who was paying it.
Then, suddenly, he started as he dropped the last piece into the exempt's palm--while the latter, looking up again at Desparre, saw his eyes staring down the street to the further end of it--though, at the same time, there was a glance in them as if he were staring into vacancy. Yet, in truth, they were fixed on a very palpable object--the form of a man passing swiftly up the street of the Holy Apostles.
The form of Walter Clarges!
"See," Desparre whispered to Vandecque. "See. He comes. Ha! he has left her alone. So! 'tis better." Then he turned to the Archers and Exempts and muttered low: "There! There is the man. Coming towards us. I would slay him myself--I could do it easily with the secret thrust I know of," he whispered, "but I must risk nothing--till--I--have--seen--her."
While, as he spoke, he moved off to the other side of the street and withdrew into the porch, or stoop, of a door, wrapping his roquelaure around him. Yet, as the fellows drew themselves together and prepared to seize on the man advancing towards them, they heard his voice send forth another whisper from within that porch.
"You know your office. Do it. And if he resists--slay him."
Approaching, Walter Clarges saw the group of men standing in the roadside close up by the footway, while, because of the troubles and turmoils in the streets, as well as because he knew well enough of the lawlessness that prevailed that night, he let his left hand fall under his cloak on to the hilt of his sword, and thus loosened the blade in its sheath, so that it should be ready for his right to draw if necessary. Then, a moment later, he saw Vandecque's figure in front of the others, and, recognising his features in the gleam of the moon, nerved himself for an encounter. Though, even now, he scarcely knew what form that encounter might take.
"So," Vandecque exclaimed, "we have found you! That is well, and may save trouble. Monsieur Clarges, you will have to go with us."