m? He merits death."

"_Ma foi!_ he does," replied the mousquetaire, while he grimly added,
"For my part, I am willing to execute it on him now."

At this sinister remark, uttered with the callousness which a brave
soldier would naturally feel for the existence of such a creature, the
other flung himself on his feet before them and began to howl so for
mercy that St. Georges, more for fear that he would call the attention
of some who might be about the village than aught else, bade him cease
the noise he was making or he would indeed take effectual steps to
stop it. Then, when this remark had produced the desired effect,
namely, a cessation of the man's shouts, though he whimpered and
whined like a beaten hound, the other continued:

"In spite of your villainy, of your assaults on one so harmless as the
child I carry, you are too vile for us to stain our weapons with your
blood. Yet, what to do with you?"

"Throw him in there," said Boussac with _sang froid_. "That will keep
him quiet for some time at least," and he pointed to an open grave
which yawned very near where they stood, and into whose black mouth he
had been peering for some time. He added also: "It will be his only
chance of ever occupying one. Such as he end by hanging on roadside
gibbets or rotting on the wheel they have been broken upon--the
peaceful grave is not for them."

St. Georges turned his eyes to the spot indicated, exclaiming that it
would do very well. It was no newly made grave, he saw, prepared for
one who had recently departed, but, instead, an old one that had been
opened, perhaps to receive some fresh body; for by the side of it
there lay a slab that had, it was plain to see, been pushed aside from
where it had previously rested, as though to permit of it being so
opened.

"Ay," echoed Boussac, sardonically, "it will do very well. Add when
he is in--as we will soon have him--the stone shall be pushed back to
keep him safe. Then he may holla loud enough and long: no one will
hear him."

His hollas began again at once, however, for at the terrifying
prospect of being thus incarcerated in so awful a manner he flung
himself once more on his knees, and bellowed out:

"Nay! Nay! In pity, I beseech you. You know not what you do--what
terrors you condemn me to. A plague, a horrible one, a sweating
sickness, passed over this province a year back--it took many, among
others him who laid here. He was of Chantillon--a seigneur--and is now
r