"That must needs be so, since everybody desires to come here!—But tell me,—for your manners and language seem to denote a man of some education, and that you are not such a devil as you seek to appear, with that shocking cap, in which you probably disguise yourself for a purpose,—what train of events has led you to adopt the hazardous profession in which you are now so famous? Do you feel disposed to tell me?—For my own part, I confess that I am very curious to know your adventures, assuming that you are not resolved to keep them secret."
"Mon Dieu! signor, I am ready to gratify you: the events of my life are very simple—like those that come to multitudes of young men in all lands. I am the son of a most respectable physician of Florence; indeed, my father had amassed some wealth; he desired to make me a dottore like himself, but I had not the slightest calling for the medical profession. By way of compensation, I had a decided calling for gambling, the joys of love, and of the table. I played, and contracted debts. At first, my father paid them; but in time he tired of paying money for me; he besought me to abandon the sort of life I was leading. Que diavolo!—it was too late, the twig was bent! I allowed myself to be led astray by fellows to whom all means of procuring money were justifiable. I left Florence, I changed my name, from regard for my family, and I followed the current. One travels rapidly on that road! As I was dexterous and fearless, I soon left behind all those whose imitator I had been. I became famous at Naples, at Rome, at Milan, throughout Italy. But my description was spread broadcast, and, in spite of the care with which I concealed my features, I was obliged to leave my native land. Then it was that I came to France, to Paris, where I have been plying my trade for six months, in the teeth of the watch, and despite the efforts of the police and of monsieur le cardinal's bloodhounds. However, I will confess to you in confidence that I have as yet found no one among all your lovely Frenchwomen comparable to the pretty girls of Florence and Milan. I have left some tender memories in those cities. Indeed, I would stake my head that I am not yet entirely forgotten there; and on my own part—but, pardon me! I am too loquacious, I abuse your patience.—That is my story, signor; as you see, there is nothing very extraordinary in it."
While listening to the robber, Léodgard had become gloomy and pensive; his head had fallen on his breast, and it was difficult to say whether he was still listening or was lost in thought.
Giovanni, having for some moments refrained from disturbing the silence of the young man to whom he had related his adventures, said at last:
"I beg pardon, signor; I have told you what you wished to know, but the night is hastening, and I must soon think of returning to my lair. So, give me your purse, and I will take leave of you."
"Have you any companions, any confederates?" asked Léodgard abruptly, without answering the robber.
"No, indeed; I am no such fool! I work alone, and I am the better for so doing. If I had had confederates, I should have been caught long ago! As you must know, in all ranks of society, a man is never betrayed, except by his own people. Come, my young gentleman, let us finish our business. I know that this street abounds in memories, and that it is well worth while to pause and consider it. A few steps from here, during the night of June 13, 1392, the Connétable Olivier de Clisson, coming from the Hôtel Saint-Pol, where he had supped with the king, was treacherously assaulted and murdered by Pierre de Craon, chamberlain and favorite of the Duc d'Orléans, brother of King Charles VI. By a most fortunate chance, Clisson wore a coat of mail under his clothes; he received more than sixty sword and knife thrusts which did not reach his body; but he was finally wounded in the head and thrown from his horse; he fell against the door of a baker's shop, which was ajar, and his assassins took flight."
"Malpeste! Giovanni, so you know our history too!" said Léodgard, apparently taking pleasure in listening to the brigand.
"And why not, signor? I have told you that I am the son of a dottore!—And that Rue des Francs-Bourgeois, which you have just left—I have been following you for some time, you see—that Rue des Francs-Bourgeois will always figure in your annals. There it was that two miserable wretches lived toward the close of the last century—two poor brothers, beggars, in short, who possessed the talent of imitating perfectly the baying of a pack of hounds and the notes of a number of hunting horns. Certain leaders of the League formed the plan of using those beggars to lead your King Henri IV into a trap, knowing his passion for the chase. One day when the king was enjoying that sport in the forest of Vincennes, the noise of a pack of hounds, of horns, and of hunters, very distant at first, suddenly drew near; a black man, forcing his way through the underbrush, appeared before Henri IV and said to him in an awe-inspiring voice: 'Did you hear me?'—But neither the king nor any one of his train ventured to follow that man, who, it is said, was to have hurled a lance at the king if he had tried to come up with him. And all this was the work of the Leaguers and of the two beggars from Rue des Francs-Bourgeois!"
"By my faith, Master Giovanni, you have told me something that I did not know!—Pray go on; I see that one cannot fail to profit by your conversation."