'Most people usually are, under these circumstances.' 'My word and sword should be warrant enough; but here is the document,' said he, holding a paper close lo one of the lamps of the fiacre. '_Louis, par la Grace de Dieu, Roi de France et de Navarre,_' &c. &c., 'signed at our castle of Versailles,' and so forth, all in due form. 'What the devil would you have more? I have arrested a Bishop and a Marechal of France--ay, Monseigneur de Montmorenci himself--with infinitely less ceremony.' Inflamed with anger and alarm, and irresolute whether to fight, fly, or yield, I still kept my point towards him. 'Mere musketeers have not status sufficient to arrest a gentleman of the Scottish Guard;--we rank with field-officers of the French line,' said I. 'M. Blane forgets that I am noble.' 'By marriage with a lady descended from Joan of Arc's family; but you forget, my dear M. Brissac, that by the edict of Louis XIII., (whose agreeable warrant you bear,) passed in 1614, "females descended from _La Pucelle_, shall no longer ennoble their husbands," so that heraldic force is at an end.' 'Pardieu! beat him down, messieurs, with the butts of your muskets, for I am weary of this!' exclaimed de Brissac, with sudden passion; and finding, on reflection, the danger and futility of further resistance, I surrendered my weapon, saying, with a lightness, I was far from feeling, 'Here is my spit--but pray be careful of it, for a dainty demoiselle's pink glove, is, or should be at the shell of it.' 'Little Babette's of the Fleur-de-lis, in the Rue d'Ecosse, I presume,' said he, scornfully; but as Marion de l'Orme usually wore pink gloves, he shook with rage, as he thrust me into the carriage and took his place beside me. The fiacre was put in motion; the musketeers ran at a double quick march on each side of it, which dispelled my first idea that they meant to assassinate me; and as we drove on, I taxed my memory in vain for any offence or crime I might have committed. 'Oh--you are angry at finding me at little De l'Orme's, perhaps?' said I. 'What care I for Mademoiselle de l'Orme?' said he; 'who is her lover now?' 'Rumour says a certain M. de Brissac--but I know 'tis the young Marquis de Toneins.' 'Bah--her affections are of the most rapid nature!' 'Well, my dear M. de Brissac,' said I, in that sneering fashion which the Parisians were fast teaching me; 'if you are not jealous of me, you will perhaps have the kindness to acquaint me with my crime.' 'You have been in love with the King's mistress.' My heart trembled at these words; but I resolved to put a bold face on the affair. 'Nay, nay, M. Brissac! she is in love with me.' 'Oh, fie, M. Blane! But no matter; I have known a man branded with the fleur-de-lis, or sent in chains to the galleys at Toulon for less.' 'Pleasant reminiscences!' 'Very; suggestive, too: I hope you like them.'