r Henry, he pretended to see nothing, but
kept a closer watch on his ally than he had yet done.

Every one was waiting for some event.

During this state of things, one morning when the sun rose clear, giving
out that gentle warmth and sweet odor which announce a beautiful day, a
pale man, leaning on a cane, and walking with difficulty, came out of a
small house situated behind the arsenal, and walked slowly along the Rue
du Petit Muse.

At the Porte Saint Antoine he turned into the street which encircles the
moat of the Bastille like a marsh, left the boulevard on his left and
entered the Archery Garden, where the gatekeeper received him with every
mark of respect.

There was no one in the garden, which, as its name implies, belonged to
a particular society called the Taxopholites. Had there been any
strollers there the pale man would have merited their sympathy, for his
long mustache, his military step and bearing, though weakened by
suffering, sufficiently indicated that he was an officer who had been
recently wounded, and who was endeavoring to regain his strength by
moderate exercise in the open air.

Yet, strange to say, when the cloak opened in which, in spite of the
increasing heat, this apparently harmless man was wrapped, it displayed
a pair of long pistols suspended from the silver clasps of his belt.
This belt also sustained a dagger and a sword so enormously long that it
seemed almost impossible to be handled, and which, completing this
living arsenal, clattered against his shrunken and trembling legs.

As an additional precaution the lonely soldier glanced around at every
step as though to question each turn of the path, each bush and ditch.

Having entered the garden without being molested, the man reached a sort
of small arbor, facing the boulevard, from which it was separated by a
thick hedge and a small ditch which formed a double inclosure. He threw
himself upon a grassy bank within reach of a table on which the host of
the establishment, who combined with his duties as gatekeeper the
vocation of cook, at once placed a bottle of cordial.

The invalid had been there about ten minutes and had several times
raised the china cup to his lips, taking little sips of its contents,
when suddenly his countenance, in spite of its interesting pallor,
assumed a startled expression. From the Croix Faubin, along a path which
to-day is the Rue de Naples, he had perceived a cavalier, wrapped in a
great cloak,