"'Well, at all events, there's only one here,' said the first who had spoken. 'What's the odds? Bah! we will bury the one that is here, and then say that his friend had escaped; or it may be that they didn't count right.' "They set about digging a grave; and Perrot, who was tottering away little by little, was glad to hear the jovial digger say to his companion,-- "'It has just occurred to me that if we admit that we found only one body, and dig only one grave, the man will give us only five pistoles, perhaps, instead of ten. Wouldn't it be better for our pockets to say nothing about this extraordinary escape of the second corpse?' "'Yes, faith!' replied his devout companion. 'Let us content ourselves with saying that we have accomplished our task; and then we shall have told no lie.' "Meanwhile, Perrot, faint as death, had got as far as Rue Aubry-le-Boucher. There he hailed a market gardener's wagon, returning from market, and asked the driver where he was going. "'To Montreuil,' was the reply. "'Then will you be kind enough to give me a lift as far as the corner of Rue Geoffroy L'Asnier and Rue St. Antoine, where I live?' "'Get in,' said the gardener. "In this way Perrot made the greater part of the journey to our lodgings without much fatigue; and yet ten times on the way he thought that he was dying. At last the wagon stopped at Rue Geoffroy L'Asnier. "'Well, here you are at home, my friend,' said the gardener. "'Thank you, my kind fellow!' said Perrot. "He got down with much stumbling, and was obliged to lean against the first wall that he came to. "'My comrade has had a little too much to drink,' remarked the peasant, starting up his horse. "And away he went, singing the new _chanson_ just written by Master François Rabelais, the jolly curé of Meudon:-- "'O Dieu, père Paterne, Qui muas l'eau en vin, Fais de mon cul lanterne Pour luire à mon voisin!'[4] "It took Perrot an hour to get from Rue St. Antoine to Rue des Jardins. Luckily the January nights are long. He didn't meet a soul, and arrived home about six o'clock. "My anxiety had kept me all night at the open window, Monseigneur, notwithstanding the cold. At Perrot's first call I rushed to the door and opened it. "'Not a sound, on your life!' were his first words to me. 'Help me up to my room, but not a cry, not a word!' "He went upstairs, leaning on my arm; while I, seeing that he was wounded and bleeding, didn't dare to speak, because he had forbidden me, but wept silently. When we finally got to our room, and I had taken off his coat and relieved him of his weapons, the poor soul's blood covered my hands, and I saw the great gaping wounds. He forbade my cry of horror by a stern gesture, and assumed the easiest position possible on the bed. "'At least, let me call a surgeon, for God's sake!' I sobbed.