eady sufficiently nonplussed;
"your good uncle has fine parishioners!"

"It is not my fault," replied Gondi, in a sullen tone; "these idiots
came an hour too late. Had they arrived in the night, they would not
have been seen, which spoils the effect somewhat, to speak the truth
(for I grant that daylight is detrimental to them), and we would only
have heard the voice of the people 'Vox populi, vox Dei'. Nevertheless,
no great harm has been done. They will by their numbers give us the
means of escaping without being known, and, after all, our task is
ended; we did not wish the death of the sinner. Chavigny and his men are
worthy fellows, whom I love; if he is only slightly wounded, so much the
better. Adieu; I am going to see Monsieur de Bouillon, who has arrived
from Italy."

"Olivier," said Fontrailles, "go at once to Saint-Germain with
Fournier and Ambrosio; I will go and give an account to Monsieur, with
Montresor."

All separated, and disgust accomplished, with these highborn men, what
force could not bring about.

Thus ended this fray, likely to bring forth great misfortunes. No one
was killed in it. The cavaliers, having gained a few scratches and lost
a few purses, resumed their route by the side of the carriages along the
by-streets; the others escaped, one by one, through the populace they
had attracted. The miserable wretches who composed it, deprived of the
chief of the troops, still remained two hours, yelling and screaming
until the effect of their wine was gone, and the cold had extinguished
at once the fire of their blood and that of their enthusiasm. At the
windows of the houses, on the quay of the city, and along the walls, the
thoughtful and genuine people of Paris watched with a sorrowful air and
in mournful silence these preludes of disorder; while the various bodies
of merchants, dressed in black and preceded by their provosts, walked
slowly and courageously through the populace toward the Palais de
justice, where the parliament was to assemble, to make complaint of
these terrible nocturnal scenes.

The apartments of Gaston d'Orleans were in great confusion. This Prince
occupied the wing of the Louvre parallel with the Tuileries; and his
windows looked into the court on one side, and on the other over a mass
of little houses and narrow streets which almost entirely covered the
place. He had risen precipitately, awakened suddenly by the report of
the firearms, had thrust his feet into large squ