“Eh! what do I care for the bridge? If Raimond V. refuses to lower it--ah, well, zounds! my carabineers will assault the place; that happened more than once in the last war! If necessary, we will attach a petard to the door, but let it be understood, recorder, that, whatever happens, you are to follow us to make an official report.” “Hum! hum!” grunted the man of law. “Without doubt, I and my clerk must assist you; I shall be able, even under that circumstance, to note the good conduct and zeal of the aforesaid clerk in charging him with this honourable mission.” “But, Master Isnard, that is your office, and not mine!” said the unhappy clerk. “Silence, my clerk, we are here before Maison-Forte. The moments are precious. Do you prepare to follow the captain and obey me!” The company had, in fact, reached the end of the sycamore walk, which bordered the half-circle. The bridge was up, and the windows opening on the interior court were brilliant with light, as the baron’s guests had departed but a little while. “You see, captain, the bridge is up, and more, the moat is wide and deep, and full of water,” said the recorder. Captain Georges carefully examined the entrances of the place; after a few moments of silence, he pulled his moustache on the left side violently,--a sure sign of his disappointment. A sentinel, standing inside the court, seeing the glitter of arms in the moonlight, cried, in a loud voice: “Who goes there? Answer, or I will fire!” The recorder jumped back three steps, hid himself behind the captain, and replied, in a high voice: “In the name of the king and the cardinal, I, Master Isnard, recorder of the admiralty of Toulon, command you to lower this bridge!” “You will not depart?” said the voice. At the same time a light shone from one of the loopholes for guns which defended the entrance. It was easy to judge that the sentinel was blowing the match of his musket. “Take care!” cried Isnard. “Your master will be held responsible for what you are going to do!” This warning made the soldier reflect; he fired his musket in the air, at the same time crying the word of alarm in a stentorian voice. “He has fired on the king’s soldiers!” cried the recorder, pale with anger and fright “It is an act of armed rebellion. I saw it. Clerk, make a note of that act!” “No, recorder,” said the captain, “he has barked, but he has not desired to murder. I saw the light, too, and he fired in the air to give the alarm.” In answer to the sentinel’s cries, several lights appeared above the walls; numerous precipitate steps, and a great clang of arms were heard in the court At last, Master Laramée, a helmet on his head and his breast armed with a cuirass, appeared at one of the embrasures of the gate. “In the name of God, what do you want?” cried he. “Is this the time, pray, to come here and trouble good people who are keeping Christmas?”