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Weyman, Stanley John, 1855-1928

"Under the Red Robe"


'His blood is on your head!' one cried furiously. 'He will be
dead in an hour. And you will swing for him! Hurrah!'
'Begone,' I said.
'Ay, to Montfaucon,' he answered, mocking me.
'No; to your kennel!' I replied, with a look which sent him a
yard backwards, though the railings were between us. And I wiped
my blade carefully, standing a little apart. For--well, I could
understand it--it was one of those moments when a man is not
popular. Those who had come with me from the eating-house eyed
me askance, and turned their backs when I drew nearer; and those
who had joined us and obtained admission were scarcely more
polite.
But I was not to be outdone in SANG FROID. I cocked my hat, and
drawing my cloak over my shoulders, went out with a swagger which
drove the curs from the gate before I came within a dozen paces
of it. The rascals outside fell back as quickly, and in a moment
I was in the street. Another moment and I should have been clear
of the place and free to lie by for a while--when, without
warning, a scurry took place round me. The crowd fled every way
into the gloom, and in a hand-turn a dozen of the Cardinal's
guards closed round me.


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