"I know all! the miserable jests, the jibes that they discharged at your travelling companion, poor Cédrille; and the compliments they paid to the pretty foreigner; and the quarrel and the battle that followed!--Oh! I recognized in all that the untamed highborn youth, which is determined to be master in France--more master than the king, in truth! But let them beware! There is at the head of the government a certain Cardinal de Richelieu, who, I fancy, will straighten all this out! He will be called a tyrant, for every man is so called who attempts to put down abuses, to put a curb on license and disorder, to give power to the laws, and, above all, to have them executed, whatever the name, the rank, or the exalted position of the person whom they strike!--But the man of genius, the strong man, is not at all disturbed by the clamor which he stirs up about him; he goes his way and reaches his goal, often calumniated by his contemporaries; it is posterity that takes it upon itself to do him justice!--Well! it seems to me, Miretta, that I reason rather well for a robber, eh? You see that, even though one lives at war with society, that does not prevent one from doing justice to those who are able to protect it.--But let us return to yourself: you waited in vain for Cédrille, for I was plying him with drink at a wine shop, with a certain Gascon chevalier, as long and lean as a beanpole, who claims also to be your liberator." "Oh, yes! I remember; a tall man, and very thin; he almost knelt in front of our horse; he insisted on kissing my hand and on my accepting him for my knight! But he is horribly ugly!" "That is true; but that does not prevent him from being in love with you. Ah! Seigneur Passedix--that is this hero's name--is not discreet in his love affairs. Beware, Miretta! he has sworn to triumph over your rigor." "He is not dangerous! But even if he were the handsomest, most fascinating man in the kingdom of France, you well know that my heart is no longer mine to give!" Giovanni bestowed an affectionate glance on the girl and pressed her hand lovingly, murmuring: "Poor girl! I know well that that is true! You are not like other women!" But soon, as if regretting that momentary weakness, the Italian resumed his indifferent air and began to pace the floor. "Well," he said, "have you been to see the bath keeper's daughter on Rue Saint-Jacques?"