Rochefort, laughing. “I answer for his consent.”
“How soon can he be here?”
“In five days.”
“Let him come and he will find a change, I will answer for
it.”
“Therefore, go and collect your fifty men and hold yourself
in readiness.”
“For what?”
“For everything.”
“Is there any signal for the general rally?”
“A knot of straw in the hat.”
“Very good. Adieu, my lord.”
“Adieu, my dear Rochefort.”
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Dumas, Alexandre – Twenty Years After
“Ah, Monsieur Mazarin, Monsieur Mazarin,” said Rochefort,
leading off his curate, who had not found an opportunity of
uttering a single word during the foregoing dialogue, “you
will see whether I am too old to be a man of action.”
It was half-past nine o’clock and the coadjutor required
half an hour to go from the archbishop’s palace to the tower
of St. Jacques de la Boucherie. He remarked that a light was
burning in one of the highest windows of the tower. “Good,”
said he, “our syndic is at his post.”
He knocked and the door was opened. The vicar himself
awaited him, conducted him to the top of the tower, and when
there pointed to a little door, placed the light which he
had brought with him in a corner of the wall, that the
coadjutor might be able to find it on his return, and went
down again. Although the key was in the door the coadjutor
knocked.
“Come in,” said a voice which he recognized as that of the
mendicant, whom he found lying on a kind of truckle bed. He
rose on the entrance of the coadjutor, and at that moment
ten o’clock struck.
“Well,” said Gondy, “have you kept your word with me?”
“Not exactly,” replied the mendicant.
“How is that?”
“You asked me for five hundred men, did you not? Well, I
have ten thousand for you.”
“You are not boasting?”
“Do you wish for a proof?”
“Yes.”
There were three candles alight, each of which burnt before
a window, one looking upon the city, the other upon the
Palais Royal, and a third upon the Rue Saint Denis.
The man went silently to each of the candles and blew them
out one after the other.
“What are you doing?” asked the coadjutor.
“I have given the signal.”
“For what?”
“For the barricades. When you leave this you will behold my
men at work. Only take care you do not break your legs in
stumbling over some chain or your neck by falling in a
hole.”
“Good! there is your money, the same sum as that you have
received already. Now remember that you are a general and do
not go and drink.”
“For twenty years I have tasted nothing but water.”
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Dumas, Alexandre – Twenty Years After
The man took the bag from the hands of the coadjutor, who
heard the sound of his fingers counting and handling the
gold pieces.
“Ah! ah!” said the coadjutor, “you are avaricious, my good
fellow.”
The mendicant sighed and threw down the bag.
“Must I always be the same?” said he, “and shall I never
succeed in overcoming the old leaven? Oh, misery, oh,
vanity!”
“You take it, however.”
“Yes, but I make hereby a vow in your presence, to employ
all that remains to me in pious works.”
His face was pale and drawn, like that of a man who had just
undergone some inward struggle.
“Singular man!” muttered Gondy, taking his hat to go away;
but on turning around he saw the beggar between him and the
door. His first idea was that this man intended to do him
some harm, but on the contrary he saw him fall on his knees
before him with his hands clasped.
“Your blessing, your holiness, before you go, I beseech
you!” he cried.
“Your holiness!” said Gondy; “my friend, you take me for
some one else.”
“No, your holiness, I take you for what you are, that is to
say, the coadjutor; I recognized you at the first glance.”
Gondy smiled. “And you want my blessing?” he said.
“Yes, I have need of it.”
The mendicant uttered these words in a tone of such
humility, such earnest repentance, that Gondy placed his