The executioners hesitated a moment; but Trois Eschelles, recollecting that Quentin Durward was believed, from various circumstances, to stand high in the favour of their master, King Louis, they resolved to permit the interview.
When Quentin, at their summons, approached the condemned criminal, he could not but be shocked at his appearance, however justly his doom might have been deserved. The remnants of his heraldic finery, rent to tatters by the fangs of the dogs, and the clutches of the bipeds who had rescued him from their fury to lead him to the gallows, gave him at once a ludicrous and a wretched appearance. His face was discoloured with paint and with some remnants of a fictitious beard, assumed for the purpose of disguise, and there was the paleness of death upon his cheek and upon his lip; yet, strong in passive courage, like most of his tribe, his eye, while it glistened and wandered, as well as the contorted smile of his mouth, seemed to bid defiance to the death he was about to die.
Quentin was struck, partly with horror, partly with compassion, as he approached the miserable man; and these feelings probably betrayed themselves in his manner, for Petit Andre called out, “Trip it more smartly, jolly Archer.—This gentleman's leisure cannot wait for you, if you walk as if the pebbles were eggs, and you afraid of breaking them.”
“I must speak with him in privacy,” said the criminal, despair seeming to croak in his accent as he uttered the words.
“That may hardly consist with our office, my merry Leap the ladder,” said Petit Andre, “we know you for a slippery eel of old.”
“I am tied with your horse girths, hand and foot,” said the criminal. “You may keep guard around me, though out of earshot—the Archer is your own King's servant. And if I give you ten guilders—”
“Laid out in masses, the sum may profit his poor soul,” said Trois Eschelles.
“Laid out in wine or brantwein, it will comfort my poor body,” responded Petit Andre. “So let them be forthcoming, my little crack rope.”
“Pay the bloodhounds their fee,” said Hayraddin to Durward, “I was plundered of every stiver when they took me—it shall avail thee much.”
Quentin paid the executioners their guerdon, and, like men of promise, they retreated out of hearing—keeping, however, a careful eye on the criminal's motions. After waiting an instant till the unhappy man should speak, as he still remained silent, Quentin at length addressed him, “And to this conclusion thou hast at length arrived?”