“Ah, Monsieur Mazarin, Monsieur Mazarin,” said Rochefort, leading off his curate, who had not found an opportunity of uttering a single word during the foregoing dialogue, “you will see whether I am too old to be a man of action.” It was half-past nine o’clock and the coadjutor required half an hour to go from the archbishop’s palace to the tower of St. Jacques de la Boucherie. He remarked that a light was burning in one of the highest windows of the tower. “Good,” said he, “our syndic is at his post.” He knocked and the door was opened. The vicar himself awaited him, conducted him to the top of the tower, and when there pointed to a little door, placed the light which he had brought with him in a corner of the wall, that the coadjutor might be able to find it on his return, and went down again. Although the key was in the door the coadjutor knocked. “Come in,” said a voice which he recognized as that of the mendicant, whom he found lying on a kind of truckle bed. He rose on the entrance of the coadjutor, and at that moment ten o’clock struck. “Well,” said Gondy, “have you kept your word with me?” “Not exactly,” replied the mendicant. “How is that?” “You asked me for five hundred men, did you not? Well, I have ten thousand for you.” “You are not boasting?” “Do you wish for a proof?” “Yes.” There were three candles alight, each of which burnt before a window, one looking upon the city, the other upon the Palais Royal, and a third upon the Rue Saint Denis. The man went silently to each of the candles and blew them out one after the other. “What are you doing?” asked the coadjutor. “I have given the signal.” “For what?” “For the barricades. When you leave this you will behold my men at work. Only take care you do not break your legs in stumbling over some chain or your neck by falling in a hole.” “Good! there is your money, the same sum as that you have received already. Now remember that you are a general and do not go and drink.” “For twenty years I have tasted nothing but water.” The man took the bag from the hands of the coadjutor, who heard the sound of his fingers counting and handling the gold pieces. “Ah! ah!” said the coadjutor, “you are avaricious, my good fellow.” The mendicant sighed and threw down the bag. “Must I always be the same?” said he, “and shall I never succeed in overcoming the old leaven? Oh, misery, oh, vanity!” “You take it, however.” “Yes, but I make hereby a vow in your presence, to employ all that remains to me in pious works.” His face was pale and drawn, like that of a man who had just undergone some inward struggle. “Singular man!” muttered Gondy, taking his hat to go away; but on turning around he saw the beggar between him and the door. His first idea was that this man intended to do him some harm, but on the contrary he saw him fall on his knees before him with his hands clasped. “Your blessing, your holiness, before you go, I beseech you!” he cried.