Among some of the first, though not absolutely one of the first, M. de Belleville was subjected to inspection. His passport was perused by the _douanier_, who mumbled out as he did so, "Height, five feet ten. _Hein!_" raising his eyes to the young man's face. "I should have said an inch more." "I should have said two more," M. de Belleville replied with a laugh. "_Mais, que voulez vous?_ The monsieur at our embassy would have it so, in spite of my pardonable remonstrances. Therefore five feet ten I have to be. And he was short himself. Let us forgive him." "Monsieur is gay and debonair. _Bon!_ That is the way to live long. Eyes, dark. _Bon!_ Hair," putting up a forefinger and lifting M. de Belleville's peruke an inch or so, "dark. _Bon!_ Age, twenty-nine." "Another affront. I assure you, monsieur, I told the gentleman I am but twenty-eight and four months." "_Ohé!_ Monsieur has a light vein. When a man has passed twenty-eight he is twenty-nine in the eyes of the law. Monsieur's vanity need not be offended. Now, monsieur, the pockets. 'Tis but a ceremony, I assure monsieur." The pockets were soon done with. The man saw a purse through which glistened many pistoles and louis d'or and gold crowns, several bills drawn by the great French banker Bernard, which could be changed almost anywhere, and--a portrait. "_Hein!_" the man said, though not rudely. "A beautiful young lady. Handsome as monsieur himself, doubtless one whom----" "Precisely. There is nothing more?" "Except the baggage." "I have none. By to-night, or to-morrow, or the next day, I hope to be in Marshal de Boufflers' lines." "Monsieur must ride then. The Marshal's lines stretch from----" "I know. I shall reach them as soon as horse can carry me." After which the young man was permitted to walk ashore. "So," 'Monsieur de Belleville' said to himself, as now, with his large cloak over his arm, he made his way to the vicinity of the cathedral, "I am here. So far so good. Yet this is but the first step. I must be wary. Vengeance confound the vagabond!" he went on as his thought changed. "I wish he had not looked on that sweet face and stately form of Sylvia Thorne. Almost it seems a sacrilege. Cousin Mordaunt gave me that as my passport to her. I wonder if he dreams of how many times I have gazed on it since I parted from him? Still, it had to be shown." Consoled with this reflection, the young man continued on his way until the _carillons_ sounding above his head told him that the cathedral was close at hand. Then, emerging suddenly from a narrow street full of lofty houses, he found himself on the cathedral _place_, and looked around for some hostelry where he might rest for the day and part of the night.