At this sound the Governor, as little able to conceive whence it originated as De Blenau himself, drew his sword, and throwing open the door, discovered the redoubtable Jacques Chatpilleur, _Cuisinier Aubergiste_, striding in triumph over the prostrate body of the sentinel, and waving over his head an immense stew-pan, being the weapon with which he had achieved the victory, and through which appeared a small round hole, caused by the ball of the soldier's firelock. In the mean while was to be seen the sentinel on the ground, his iron morion actually dented by the blows of his adversary, and his face and garments bedabbled, not with blood, indeed, but with the _Poulet en blanquette_ and its white sauce, which had erst been tenant of the stew-pan. "Victoria! Victoria! Victoria!" shouted the _aubergiste_, waving his stew-pan; "Twice have I conquered in one night! Can Mieleraye or Bouillon say that? Victoria! Victoria!" But here his triumph received a check; for looking into the unhappy utensil, he suddenly perceived the loss of its contents, which had flown all over the place, the treacherous lid having detached itself during his conflict with the sentinel, and sought safety in flight down the stairs. "_Mon Poulet! mon Poulet!_" exclaimed he, in a tone of bitter despair, "_le nid y est, mais l'oiseau est parti_,--the nest is there, but the bird is flown. _Helas, mon Poulet! mon pauvre Poulet!_" and quitting the body of his prostrate foe, he advanced into the apartment with that sort of zig-zag motion which showed that the thin sinewy shanks which supported his woodcock-shaped upper man, were somewhat affected by a more than usual quantity of the generous grape. The whole scene was so inexpressibly ludicrous, that De Blenau burst into an immoderate fit of laughter, in which the Governor could not help joining, notwithstanding his indignation at the treatment the sentinel had experienced. Recovering himself, however, he poured forth his wrath upon the _aubergiste_ in no measured terms, demanding how he dared to conduct himself so in the Royal Chateau of the Bastille, and what had become of the Count de Blenau's supper, adding a few qualificatory epithets, which may as well be omitted. "_Eh bien, Monsieur! Eh bien!_" cried the _aubergiste_, with very little respect for the Governor: "as for the gentleman there, lying on his belly, he ought to have let me in, and not fired his piece at me. He knew me well enough. He might have cried _Qui vive?_ once,--that was well, as it is the etiquette." "But why did you not answer him, _sacré maraud_?" cried the Governor.