pocket-handkerchiefs, and fans; but listen ---- "

At that moment a window opened and a man began to sing:

"A tempest from the Fronde
Did blow to-day:
I think 'twill blow
Sieur Mazarin away."

"Insolent wretch!" cried Guitant.

"My lord," said Comminges, who, irritated by his wounds,
wished for revenge and longed to give back blow for blow,
"shall I fire off a ball to punish that jester, and to warn
him not to sing so much out of tune in the future?"

And as he spoke he put his hand on the holster of his
uncle's saddle-bow.

"Certainly not! certainly not," exclaimed Mazarin. "Diavolo!
my dear friend, you are going to spoil everything --
everything is going on famously. I know the French as well
as if I had made them myself. They sing -- let them pay the
piper. During the Ligue, about which Guitant was speaking
just now, the people chanted nothing except the mass, so
everything went to destruction. Come, Guitant, come along,
and let's see if they keep watch at the Quinze-Vingts as at
the Barriere des Sergens."

And waving his hand to Comminges he rejoined D'Artagnan, who