He had no occasion to call twice, for the innkeeper had been listening at the door, and had successively heard the noise of tables and stools, the clashing of swords, and the fall of a heavy body; besides, the worthy M. Bonhomet had particularly, after the confidence which had been reposed in him, too extensive an experience of the character of gentlemen of the sword in general, and of that of Chicot in particular, not to have guessed, step by step, what had taken place. The only thing of which he was ignorant was, which of the two adversaries had fallen. It must, however, be said in praise of Maître Bonhomet that his face assumed an expression of real satisfaction when he heard Chicot's voice, and when he saw that it was the Gascon who, safe and sound, opened the door. Chicot, whom nothing escaped, remarked the expression of his countenance, and was inwardly pleased at it. Bonhomet, tremblingly, entered the apartment. "Good heavens!" he exclaimed, as he saw the captain's body bathed in blood. "Yes, my poor Bonhomet," said Chicot; "this is what we have come to; our dear captain here is very ill, as you see." "Oh! my good Monsieur Chicot, my good Monsieur Chicot!" exclaimed Bonhomet, ready to faint. "Well, what?" inquired Chicot. "It is very unkind of you to have chosen my inn for this execution; such a handsome captain, too!" "Would you sooner have seen Chicot lying there, and Borromée alive?" "No, oh no!" cried the host, from the very bottom of his heart. "Well, that would have happened, however, had it not been for a miracle of Providence."--"Really?" "Upon the word of Chicot, just look at my back, for it pains me a good deal, my dear friend." And he stooped down before the innkeeper, so that both his shoulders might be on a level with the host's eye. Between the two shoulders the doublet was pierced through, and a spot of blood as large and round as a silver crown piece reddened the edges of the hole. "Blood!" cried Bonhomet, "blood! Ah, you are wounded!" "Wait, wait." And Chicot unfastened his doublet and his shirt. "Now look!" he said. "Oh! you wore a cuirass! What a fortunate thing, dear Monsieur Chicot; and you were saying that the ruffian wished to assassinate you." "Diable! it hardly seems likely I should have taken any pleasure in giving myself a dagger thrust between my own shoulders. Now, what do you see?" "A link broken." "That dear captain was in good earnest then; is there much blood?" "Yes, a good deal under the links." "I must take off the cuirass, then," said Chicot. Chicot took off his cuirass, and bared the upper part of his body, which seemed to be composed of nothing else but bones, of muscles spread over the bones, and of skin merely covering the muscles. "Ah! Monsieur Chicot," exclaimed Bonhomet, "you have a wound as large as a plate."