“Then it is because you do not know your friends, my dear Monsieur Louvieres,” said the coadjutor, raising his hat.

Louvieres recognized him and bowed.

Gondy continued his way and went as far as the Tour de Nesle.  There he saw a lengthy chain of people gliding under the walls.  They might be said to be a procession of ghosts, for they were all wrapped in white cloaks.  When they reached a certain spot these men appeared to be annihilated, one after the other, as if the earth had opened under their feet.  Gondy, edged into a corner, saw them vanish from the first until the last but one.  The last raised his eyes, to ascertain, doubtless, that neither his companions nor himself had been watched, and, in spite of the darkness, he perceived Gondy.  He walked straight up to him and placed a pistol to his throat.

“Halloo!  Monsieur de Rochefort,” said Gondy, laughing, “are you a boy to play with firearms?”

Rochefort recognized the voice.

“Ah, it is you, my lord!” said he.

“The very same.  What people are you leading thus into the bowels of the earth?”

“My fifty recruits from the Chevalier d’Humieres, who are destined to enter the light cavalry and who have only received as yet for their equipment their white cloaks.”

“And where are you going?”

“To the house of one of my friends, a sculptor, only we enter by the trap through which he lets down his marble.”

“Very good,” said Gondy, shaking Rochefort by the hand, who descended in his turn and closed the trap after him.

It was now one o’clock in the morning and the coadjutor returned home.  He opened a window and leaned out to listen.  A strange, incomprehensible, unearthly sound seemed to pervade the whole city; one felt that something unusual and terrible was happening in all the streets, now dark as ocean’s most unfathomable caves.  From time to time a dull sound was heard, like that of a rising tempest or a billow of the sea; but nothing clear, nothing distinct, nothing intelligible; it was like those mysterious subterraneous noises that precede an earthquake.

The work of revolt continued the whole night thus.  The next morning, on awaking, Paris seemed to be startled at her own appearance.  It was like a besieged town.  Armed men, shouldering muskets, watched over the barricades with menacing looks; words of command, patrols, arrests, executions, even, were encountered at every step.  Those bearing plumed hats and gold swords were stopped and made to cry, “Long live Broussel!” “Down with Mazarin!” and whoever refused to comply with this ceremony was hooted at, spat upon and even beaten.  They had not yet begun to slay, but it was well felt that the inclination to do so was not wanting.