“They come to the Man in Scarlet.”
At mention of the official headsman, who years before had come from near Fontainebleau to reside in Peptonneau, Jacques’ companion fell silent.
The old man chuckled.
“Ah! They were gay days when your old Jacques was a gardener at the royal palace. And be it known to you, lout of Peptonneau,” Jacques’ voice rose, “that my best friend then was old Capeluche, the very father of our neighbor headsman, who to be sure is a man of ugly temper, and hence giving easy understanding as to why he lost favor at Fontainebleau.
“Ah me!” sighed Jacques. “You, André, should have heard the rare stories told by old Capeluche, the son of the son of the son of the son of a headsman, unto four generations. A proper man with the sword, forsooth! There was the Duc de la Trémouille whom old Capeluche led to the block and permitted to begin the Lord’s prayer, but when the noble duke got as far as ‘et nos inducas intentationem’ he had drawled it so slowly that the good Capeluche, losing patience, swung his blade and made such a clean stroke of it that the head, though severed, remained in exact place while from the lips the prayer continued—‘Sed libera nos a malo’—until the faithful Capeluche nudged the body and the head toppled off.
“A wonderful arm, one may say,” continued Jacques, “but a wonderful weapon, too, and the same one now resting with the Capeluche in Peptonneau. Old Capeluche told me that on one occasion, when Madam Bonacieux, a famous lady-in-waiting—now dead, may the Saints preserve her!—brought her baby to his house, the sword rattled furiously in its closet, which was an omen that the child would some day die by the self-same sword wielded by the right arm of a Capeluche unless then and there Madam Bonacieux allowed her baby’s neck to be pricked by the point of the sword until blood showed.”
“And did Madam Bonacieux permit it?” asked André, curiously.
“That she did not,” replied Jacques. “She laughed in old Capeluche’s face and ran out of his house, and thereat the old man was furious, vowing that the child would some day have its neck severed by the famous sword.”
While thus engaged in conversation, old Jacques had steadily led the way by a short cut through the wood, which presently brought them out of breath to the village, ahead of the coach and horses.