“Mordieu! yet it is annoying to give up.” “Yes; but it can be put off. I told your highness that the house is taken for a year; we know the lady lodges on the first story. We have gained her maid, and have a key which opens the door: you may wait safely.” “You are sure that the door yielded?” “Yes, at the third key I tried.” “Are you sure you shut it again?” “Yes, monseigneur.” Aurilly did not feel sure, as he said, but he did not choose to admit it. “Well, I will go; I shall return some other time.” And the duke went away, promising to payoff the gentlemen for their interruption. They had hardly disappeared, when the five companions saw approach a cavalier wrapped in a large cloak. The steps of his horse resounded on the frozen ground, and they went slowly and with precaution, for it was slippery. “This time,” said Quelus, “it is he.” “Impossible,” said Maugiron. “Why?” “Because he is alone, and we left him with Livarot, Antragues, and Ribeirac, who would not have let him run such a risk.” “It is he, however; do you not recognize his insolent way of carrying his head?” “Then,” said D’O, “it is a snare.” “In any case, it is he; and so to arms!” It was, indeed, Bussy, who came carelessly down the Rue St. Antoine, and followed the route given him by Quelus; he had, as we have seen, received the warning of St. Luc, and, in spite of it, had parted from his friends at the Hôtel Montmorency. It was one of those bravadoes delighted in by the valiant colonel, who said of himself, “I am but a simple gentleman, but I bear in my breast the heart of an emperor; and when I read in Plutarch the exploits of the ancient Romans, I think there is not one that I could not imitate.” And besides, he thought that St. Luc, who was not ordinarily one of his friends, merely wished to get him laughed at for his precautions; and Bussy feared ridicule more than danger. He had, even in the eyes of his enemies, earned a reputation for courage, which could only be sustained by the rashest adventures. Therefore, alone, and armed only with a sword and poniard, he advanced towards the house where waited for him no person, but simply a letter, which the Queen of Navarre sent him every month on the same day, and which he, according to his promise to the beautiful Marguerite, went to fetch himself, alone, and at night. When he arrived at the Rue St. Catherine, his active eye discerned in the shade the forms of his adversaries. He counted them: “Three, four, five,” said he, “without counting the lackeys, who are doubtless within call. They think much of me, it seems; all these for one man. That brave St. Luc did not deceive me; and were his even the first sword to pierce me I would cry, ‘Thanks for your warning, friend.’” So saying, he continued to advance, only his arm held his sword under his cloak, of which he had unfastened the clasp. It was then that Quelus cried, “To arms.”