My Sword's My Fortune: A Story of Old FranceHayens, Herbert
History
My Sword's My Fortune: A Story of Old France
Hayens, Herbert
France -- History -- 17th century -- Fiction
"As you will; and if you fail, I will borrow some troopers from the
Luxembourg and lay him by the heels. At all events the fellow will
know who pays him."
The next night I set off for the Rue Crillon, and, after spending an
hour or two with Marie and her aunt, went back into the street. My
man, as usual, was in full view, and it appeared to me, rather overdid
his part, as if he was anxious to attract my attention.
However, there was not much leisure for reflection, and I walked
quickly and boldly towards him, when he immediately made off. Angry at
being baulked so often, and determined to discover his business, I
followed sharply, and nearly caught him at the bottom of the narrow
street running at right angles to the Rue Crillon. A stupid
charcoal-burner lost me my advantage here, but perceiving which way the
spy went I hurried on in the same direction.
For half an hour I patiently tracked my quarry, through a network of
narrow streets and alleys crossing and re-crossing each other like an
Eastern puzzle. By this time I was hopelessly astray, never having
been in that quarter, which was one of the worst in the city. Under
other circumstances I should have feared to trust myself in those
horrible courts, but now I did not even remember the danger.
Presently the spy himself seemed doubtful as to which turning to take.
He stood a moment in apparent hesitation, but, finding me close on his
heels, darted as if at random up a narrow entrance. It was a
_cul-de-sac_ containing perhaps half a dozen houses, and I chuckled
inwardly on finding how completely he had trapped himself. I could not
have desired a better place for my purpose. The court was very quiet;
the houses were old and dilapidated, and the inmates had either gone to
bed or had not returned from their nightly wanderings. We two had a
clear stage to ourselves.
The man was a regular coward after all. He looked this way and that
with frightened eyes, ran on a few paces as if hoping to find a way
out, came back, and finally made a dash to get past me.
"Oh, ho, not so fast, my good fellow!" I cried, barring his path.
"Where are you going in such a hurry?"
"I have lost my way, monsieur," he answered in a whining voice.
"How strange! So have I! We may as well keep each other company.
Don't look like that, I am not going to hurt you."
"I feared monsieur meant to kill me," he whimpered.
"Bah! I only want a little information, which will be well paid for.
Are you willing to earn ten crowns?"
"Ten crowns, monsieur? Certainly."
"Then tell me what you do in the Rue Crillon and who pays you? Answer
these questions and here are the ten crowns."
"And if not, monsieur?" said he, still whining like a beggar.
"If not it will be the worse for you. Quick, make your choice, I
cannot stay here for ever."
It was the rascal's turn now to laugh, as some one, throwing a heavy
mantle over my head, tripped me up violently.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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