"
"Pierre Philibert!" Master Pothier rubbed his hands at this
reminder, "I remember him, Jean! A hero like St. Denis! It was he
who walked into the Chateau of the Intendant and brought off young
De Repentigny as a cat does her kitten."
"What, in his mouth, Master Pothier?"
"None of your quips, Jean; keep cool!" Master Pothier's own face
grew red. "Never ring the coin that is a gift, and do not stretch
my comparisons like your own wit to a bare thread. If I had said in
his mouth, what then? It was by word of mouth, I warrant you, that
he carried him away from Beaumanoir. Pity he is not here to take
him away from the Tilly Arms!"
The sound of voices, the rattle and clash of the dice-box in the
distant parlor, reached his ear amidst the laughter and gabble of
the common room. The night was a hard one in the little inn.
In proportion as the common room of the inn grew quiet by the
departure of its guests, the parlor occupied by the gentlemen became
more noisy and distinct in its confusion. The song, the laugh, the
jest, and jingle of glasses mingled with the perpetual rattle of
dice or the thumps which accompanied the play of successful cards.
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