On the instant he recognized its owner.
"Good morning, Peyrot. We've recovered the packet."
Not waiting for further amenities, I seized my lord and dashed him into
the front room, only a faint hope to lead me, but the oaths of the
bravos a good spur. And, St. Quentin be thanked, there in the garret
window were Jacques and his tapsters, pushing a ladder to us.
"Go, monsieur! There are four behind us. Go!"
"You first!"
But I, who had snatched up his sword as he stabbed Lucas, ran back to
guard the door. He had the sense to see there was no good arguing.
Crying, "Quick after me, Felix!" he crawled out on the ladder.
Peyrot was released. Another blow from the ram, and the door fell to
finders. They leaped in over the table like a freshet over a dam. I
darted to the window. M. Etienne was in the garret, helping hold the
ladder for me. I flung myself upon it all too eagerly. Like a lath it
snapped.
XXXI
_"The very pattern of a king."_
The next world appeared to be strangely like this. I found myself lying
on a straw bed in a little low attic, my head resting comfortably on
some one's shoulder, while some one else poured wine down my gullet.
Presently I discovered that Maitre Jacques's was the ministering hand,
M. Etienne's the shoulder. After all, this was not heaven, but still
Paris.
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