Yvonnet saluted Vicomte d'Exmès according to all the rules of good-breeding, and took his leave, smiling and twirling the ends of his fine black mustache with his white hand. Two huge blonds succeeded him, of quiet demeanor, and stiff as ramrods. One appeared to be about forty; the other could scarcely have passed his twenty-fifth year. "Heinrich Scharfenstein, and Frantz Scharfenstein, his nephew," Martin-Guerre announced. "The deuce! Who are these?" said Gabriel, in amazement. "Who are you, my good fellows?" "Wir versteen nur ein wenig das franzosich" ("We only understand French a little"), said the elder of the giants. "What?" asked Gabriel. "We understand French poorly," the younger Colossus replied. "They are German _reîtres_," said Martin-Guerre,--"in Italian, _condottieri_; in French, _soldats_. They sell their arms to the highest bidder, and hold their courage at a fair price. They have already served the Spaniards and the English; but the Spaniard didn't pay promptly enough, and the Briton haggled too much. Buy them, Monseigneur, and you will find you have made a great acquisition. They will never discuss an order, and will march up to the mouth of a cannon with unalterable _sang-froid_. Courage is with them a matter of bargain and sale; and provided that they receive their wages promptly, they will submit without a word of complaint to the dangerous, it may be fatal, chances of their kind of business." "Well, I will retain these mechanics of glory," said Gabriel; "and for greater security I will pay them a month's wages in advance. But time presses; let me see the others." [Illustration: Glimpses at Divers Men of the Sword.] The two German Goliaths, carrying their hands to their hats in soldierly style and as if mechanically, withdrew together, keeping step with perfect precision. "The next is named Pilletrousse," said Martin; "here he is." A sort of brigand, with a wild look about him and torn clothes, came in, swaying from side to side in an embarrassed way, eying Gabriel as if he were his judge. "What makes you look so ashamed, Pilletrousse?" asked Martin, encouragingly. "Monseigneur here asked me to find some men of brave heart for him. You are a little more pronounced than the others; but really you have nothing to blush for." Then he continued, addressing his master, in a serious tone:--