"Come this way! this way!"
A young man of twenty-eight to thirty years, dressed with elegance, but with his garments in disorder, his belt gone, his face transformed by excitement, and without his sword, crossed the Pont-aux-Choux at full speed and joined the friends whose shouts had guided him.
"It is Montrevert!"
"Mon Dieu! what is the matter with him? what a ghastly pallor!"
"What a state his clothes are in!"
"What has happened to you, Montrevert?"
"Have you been attacked?"
"Wait a moment, messieurs; give me a chance to breathe.—Yes, I have been attacked."
"No, not a scratch! And yet, I assure you that I tried to defend myself. It was Giovanni, the famous brigand, who attacked me—yonder, on the other side of the bridge, on the right."