"Sandis! I would gladly sell myself to the devil to win your love!" "Be kind enough not to talk to me of love, and please be my guide to the Pont-aux-Choux, for that is where I am going." "Ah! I understand; that is where you make assignations with your lover; probably you are going there to join that rough fellow, that rustic, that artisan, who was awkward enough to make Roland drop from my hand on the Place de Grève, solely by favor of the crowd that pushed me from behind!--Ah! ten thousand _bombardes_! I would like right well to meet your spark again; I would show him this time that I know how to use my sword, and that it is not in the habit of escaping from my hand." "But if I remember aright, chevalier, it escaped from your hand on the day you were kind enough to espouse my cause and to stand in front of Cédrille and myself on Rue Saint-Jacques." "That day there was another reason," muttered Passedix, with a frown. "But let us return to the present; you wish to go to Pont Saint-Louis?" "No; to the Pont-aux-Choux." "It is the same thing. You are going there very late, my dear. Is your lover a market gardener, pray? has he his lair among the cabbages and carrots that cover the road toward Vincennes?" "If you propose to begin your questions again, monsieur, I will leave you and try to find some more obliging cavalier." "No! no!" cried the Gascon, detaining the girl, who had already started to leave him; "why, the child is like a train of powder! what a hothead! If you were a man, we should have killed each other ten or twelve times before this. But I love this effervescent nature; it bears some resemblance to mine.--So you want to go to the Pont-aux-Choux? Take my arm, my love; I shall have the honor of escorting you thither." Miretta decided to put her arm through the chevalier's; and he, overjoyed to have beside him the pretty girl of whom he was enamored, drew himself up and tossed his head, which made him appear even taller and diminished the stature of his companion. They walked on for some time, the Gascon making his rusty spurs and Roland's scabbard ring on the stones; Miretta thinking of Giovanni and glancing all about at the slightest sound. "Are we still far from the place to which I am going?" the girl asked her guide at last. Passedix did not reply for some seconds. Since he had felt Miretta's arm in his, his love for the dark maiden had made rapid progress; his heart beat violently beneath his patched doublet, his head burned, and his imagination indulged in a multitude of wild antics. At last he argued the matter out with himself thus: