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 CHAPTER XVI

RAISING THE DEVIL

The Black Musketeers on duty cleared a lane for the Regent at the door, and the lower orders, with whom, despite his bad character, a certain jovialty of manner made him no small favourite, cheered vociferously as he passed. "The Débonnaire goes home early," said one. "He has a child in the pot for supper," shouted another. "I wish his Highness would ask me to eat with him!" exclaimed a third. "Or drink with him!" added a fourth. While a little hunchback, hideous and distorted, observed, in a dry, shrill voice, that made itself heard above all the clamour, "His Highness has a rendezvous, I tell you! Lads, where are your manners? Débonnaire! send me the bones to pick when you've done with them!"

A peal of laughter and a volley of cheers followed his state-*coach as it rolled off at a slow, lumbering trot, with which a man on foot could easily keep up. Captain George had been directed to do so, and accompanied it to the entrance of a gloomy narrow street, where the tall cloaked figure of Bras-de-Fer was waiting, according to orders. Here it stopped, the Regent alighted rapidly, and signing to his coachman to drive on, dived into a gulf of darkness, closely attended by the Musketeer and his comrade.

A few paces brought them to an open caléche, drawn by a pair of English horses, driven from the saddle, and containing one solitary occupant, also enveloped in a cloak, who leaped out when he heard footsteps, and uncovered while he assisted the Regent to his place. He then seated himself opposite; Bras-de-Fer followed, his example; Captain