And Jacques Aubry thrust his hands in his pockets and strutted down Rue de Battoir, at the end of which Gervaise lived, whistling a student's song. The Vicomte de Marmagne continued his journey toward the Grand-Nesle. Benvenuto was in fact alone, as Jacques Aubry had said; Ascanio had wandered away, I know not where, to dream; Catherine had gone with Ruperta to visit one of her friends, and all the workmen and apprentices were holiday making at Vanvres. The master was in the garden working at the clay model of his gigantic statue of Mars, whose colossal head could see the Louvre over the roof's of the Grand-Nesle, when little Jehan, who was on guard at the door for the day, deceived by Marmagne's manner of knocking, took him for a friend, and admitted him with his two sbirri. If Benvenuto did not, like Titian, work with his coat of mail upon his back, he did, like Salvator Rosa, work with his sword at his side, and his carbine within reach of his hand. Marmagne therefore quickly discovered that life had gained very little by surprising him; he had simply surprised an armed man. The viscount did not even try to dissemble his bravado born of poltroonery; and when Cellini, in an imperative tone which called for an immediate reply, demanded why he had come upon his premises,-- "I have no business with you," was his answer; "I am the Vicomte de Marmagne; I am the king's secretary, and here is an order from his Majesty," he added, holding a paper above his head, "which allots a portion of the Grand-Nesle to me; I am here to make provision for arranging to my taste that portion of the hotel which is allotted to me, and which I shall occupy henceforth." With that, Marmagne, still followed by his two sbirri, stalked toward the door of the château. Benvenuto seized his carbine, which was, as we have said, within his reach, and with one bound stood in front of the door on the stoop. "Halt where you are!" he cried in a terrible voice, stretching out his right arm in Marmagne's direction; "one step more, and you're a dead man!" The viscount at once stopped short, although after these preliminaries we might perhaps have anticipated a desperate conflict. But there are men to whom is given the power to strike terror to other men's hearts. There is an indescribable something in their look, their gestures, their attitude, as in the look, the gestures, and the attitude of the lion. The air about them is instinct with awe; their power is felt afar off. When they stamp upon the ground, clench their fists, knit their brows, or inflate their nostrils, the boldest hesitate to attack them. A wild beast, whose young are attacked, has but to bristle up and breathe noisily to make the assailant tremble. The men of whom we speak are living dangers. Valiant hearts recognize their like in them, and go straight forward to meet them, despite their secret emotion. But the weak, the timid, the cowardly, recoil at sight of them.