Up to now I had taken no notice of the company assembled, but as I leaned back and glanced around, I saw, at a table not four paces from me, a half-dozen men seated together drinking and gossiping. Imagine my astonishment on seeing among them Brusquet, the jester, and Carouges, the officer of carabiniers, who had been placed in charge of the escort that was to conduct the Princess of Condé to her prison in the Jacobin priory. Brusquet, I was aware, knew me, and Carouges--had he not been a witness to that awful scene at St. Loup? They were between me and the door, else I had gone out. As it was, I had to wait, trusting that their preoccupation, and the shadow in which I sat, would prevent them from recognizing me, and resolved to take the first convenient opportunity to depart. And so as I sat I became a compulsory listener to their talk. I caught Carouges’ voice at the end of a sentence. “Faith of a gentleman! I never saw a man look so, and hope never to see one again. If ever coward and villain were stamped on a man’s face, it was on Vibrac’s.” “And yet,” said another, whom I knew not, “there are those who refuse to believe the story----” but Carouges interrupted him, saying a little haughtily: “Monsieur de Quesnay, I was there, and he owned to it--the cur!” “_Hein!_” And Brusquet flapped the bladder attached to his sceptre on the table. “_Hein!_ But Vibrac only illustrates what I was always telling my little brother Francis, God rest his soul!” “And that was?” asked two or three voices. “That ambition and love will ruin the best man. My cousins of Guise illustrate the first, and in Vibrac we have the proof of the second.” “Mention them not in the same breath,” exclaimed Carouges, and the jester answered, waving his sceptre up and down: “_Oui-da!_ Vibrac was a good enough sword in the Spanish war, and in the Milanese. No? No! I know more than you about this, Carouges, but, of your grace, pass the Milan cheese--I am not yet thirsty enough.” He helped himself to some cheese to whet his thirst, and, filling his goblet, raised it to his lips. While he drank Quesnay took up the talk. “But the other--Marcilly--he has not escaped, has he?” “No,” said Carouges; “he dies to-morrow.” My heart began to beat, and Brusquet, putting down his glass, stared at Carouges. “Come, Carouges, you jest. Vibrac has escaped, and all the other prisoners are free.” “I see, my King of the Cap and Bells, that there are some things that you do not know. Yes, Marcilly has sinned against the Holy Office, and he dies to-morrow on the Martroi, an hour after sunrise.” There was silence for a moment, and I strained my ears to catch each word. Then Brusquet asked: “How do you know? Are you sure?” Carouges shrugged his shoulders and smiled. “I command the guards at the scaffold,” he said. Whereupon the men became silent once more, sipping their wine, and looking at one another. “_Diable!_” said one. “What will come next?”