"_Ventre Saint Gris!_" cried the redoubtable Jacques Chatpilleur, _cuisinier aubergiste_, who thus came to her assistance--"You shall not touch her!" and drawing the long rapier that hung beside his carving-knife, he made a pass so near the breast of the Turnkey, that the official started back full ten paces, not knowing, in the dim light of the hour, what hobgoblin shape thus crossed his purpose. "_Maraud!_" continued the _aubergiste_, "Who are you that dare to injure this demoiselle? under the very walls of the Bastille, too, contrary to the peace and quiet of His Majesty's true subjects! Get thee gone! or I will spit thee like a _chapon de maine_, or rather skewer thee like an ortolan under the wings." This professional allusion, together with a moment's reflection, enabled Letrames, the turnkey, to call to mind the _ancien vivandier_; and showering upon him a thousand harsh epithets for his interference, he called upon him to stand aside, and let him secure his prisoner; still, however, standing aloof from the point of the weapon,--for Jacques Chatpilleur, while _vivandier_ to the army, had shown that he could gather laurels with his sword, as well as with his knife; and had as often, to use Sancho's expression, given his enemies a bellyfull of dry blows, as he had filled his friends with more dainty fare; with this difference, however, that the drubbings he bestowed gratis. In the present instance, he either did not, or would not, know the Turnkey; and continued vociferating to him to hold off, and tell who he was, with such reiteration, that for some time the other had no opportunity of replying. At length, however, he roared, rather than said, "_Jacques Diable!_ you know me well enough; I am Letrames, _Géolier au château_." The _aubergiste_ looked over his shoulder, and seeing that Pauline was no longer visible, he very quietly put up his rapier, saying, "_Mais mon Dieu! mon ami_, why did you not tell me that before? _Je vous en demande mille pardons_;" and seizing the Turnkey in his arms, he embraced him, making a thousand excuses for having mistaken him, and hugging him with a sort of malicious affection, which quite put a stop to his pursuit of Pauline. The only benediction that the gaoler thought proper to bestow on the little _aubergiste_, was a thousand curses, struggling all the time to free himself from the serpent folds of Chatpilleur's embrace. But it was not till the _aubergiste_ had completely satisfied himself, that he suffered Letrames to escape, and then very composedly offered to assist him in the pursuit, which he well knew would now be ineffectual. The darkness of the night had prevented this scene from being visible from the gates of the Bastille, and Letrames, on his return to the prison, was too wise to complain of the conduct of our friend Chatpilleur; a _vivandier_ at the gates of the Bastille being much too convenient an acquaintance to be quarrelled with upon trifles.