tlemen have your lackeys to do what you do not choose to do yourself,
so have I my assistants, who do the coarser work and despatch clownish
fellows. Only when, by chance, I have to do with folks of quality, like
you and your companion, for instance, ah! then it is another thing, and
I take a pride in doing everything myself, from first to last,--that is
to say, from the first putting of the _question_, to the decapitation."

In spite of himself, Coconnas felt a shudder pervade his veins, as if
the brutal wedge was pressing his leg--as if the edge of the axe was
against his neck.

La Mole, without being able to account for it, felt the same sensation.

But Coconnas overcame the emotion, of which he was ashamed, and desirous
of taking leave of Maitre Caboche with a jest on his lips, said to him:

"Well, master, I hold you to your word, and when it is my turn to mount
Enguerrand de Marigny's gallows or Monsieur de Nemours's scaffold you
alone shall lay hands on me."

"I promise you."

"Then, this time here is my hand, as a pledge that I accept your
promise," said Coconnas.

And he offered the executioner his hand, which the latter touched
timidly with his own, although it was evident that he had a great desire
to grasp it warmly.

At this light touch Coconnas turned rather pale; but the same smile
lingered on his lips, while La Mole, ill at ease, and seeing the crowd
turn as the lantern did and come toward them, touched his cloak.

Coconnas, who in reality had as great a desire as La Mole to put an end
to this scene, which by the natural bent of his character he had delayed
longer than he would have wished, nodded to the executioner and went his
way.

"Faith!" said La Mole, when he and his companion had reached the Croix
du Trahoir, "I must confess we breathe more freely here than in the
Place des Halles."

"Decidedly," replied Coconnas; "but I am none the less glad at having
made Maitre Caboche's acquaintance. It is well to have friends
everywhere."

"Even at the sign of the _Belle Etoile_," said La Mole, laughing.

"Oh! as for poor Maitre La Huriere," said Coconnas, "he is dead and dead
again. I saw the arquebuse spitting flame, I heard the thump of the
bullet, which sounded as if it had struck against the great bell of
Notre-Dame, and I left him stretched out in the gutter with streams of
blood flowing from his nose and mouth. Taking it for granted that he is
a friend, he is a friend we shall have in th