“Ay, I guess how it is,” said Trois Eschelles; “our patron is like the old Kaisers of Rome, who, when things came to an extremity, or, as we would say, to the ladder foot with them, were wont to select from their own ministers of justice some experienced person, who might spare their sacred persons from the awkward attempts of a novice, or blunderer in our mystery. It was a pretty custom for Ethnics; but, as a good Catholic, I should make some scruple at laying hands on the Most Christian King.”
“Nay, but, brother, you are ever too scrupulous,” said Petit Andre. “If he issues word and warrant for his own execution, I see not how we can in duty dispute it. He that dwells at Rome must obey the Pope—the Marshalsmen, must do their master's bidding, and he the King's.”
“Hush, you knaves!” said the Provost Marshal, “there is here no purpose concerning the King's person, but only that of the Greek heretic pagan and Mahomedan wizard, Martius Galeotti.”
“Galeotti!” answered Petit-Andre, “that comes quite natural. I never knew one of these legerdemain fellows, who pass their lives, as one may say, in dancing upon a tight rope, but what they came at length to caper at the end of one—tchick.”
“My only concern is,” said Trois Eschelles, looking upwards, “that the poor creature must die without confession.”
“Tush! tush!” said the Provost Marshal, in reply, “he is a rank heretic and necromancer—a whole college of priests could not absolve him from the doom he has deserved. Besides, if he hath a fancy that way, thou hast a gift, Trois Eschelles, to serve him for ghostly father thyself. But, what is more material, I fear you most use your poniards, my mates; for you have not here the fitting conveniences for the exercise of your profession.”
“Now our Lady of the Isle of Paris forbid,” said Trois Eschelles, “that the King's command should find me destitute of my tools! I always wear around my body Saint Francis's cord, doubled four times, with a handsome loop at the farther end of it; for I am of the company of Saint Francis, and may wear his cowl when I am in extremis [at the point of death]—I thank God and the good fathers of Saumur.”
“And for me,” said Petit Andre, “I have always in my budget a handy block and sheaf, or a pulley as they call it, with a strong screw for securing it where I list, in case we should travel where trees are scarce, or high branched from the ground. I have found it a great convenience.”
“That will suit us well,” said the Provost Marshal. “You have but to screw your pulley into yonder beam above the door, and pass the rope over it. I will keep the fellow in some conversation near the spot until you adjust the noose under his chin, and then—”
“And then we run up the rope,” said Petit Andre, “and, tchick, our Astrologer is so far in Heaven that he hath not a foot on earth.”