I had some acquaintance with the officer in command, and he
saluted me civilly.

'This is a bad business, M. de Berault,' he said. 'The man is
dead they tell me.'

'Neither dying nor dead,' I answered lightly. 'If that be all
you may go home again.'

'With you,' he replied, with a grin, 'certainly. And as it
rains, the sooner the better. I must ask you for your sword, I
am afraid.'

'Take it,' I said, with the philosophy which never deserts me.
'But the man will not die.'

'I hope that may avail you,' he answered in a tone I did not
like. 'Left wheel, my friends! To the Chatelet! March!'

'There are worse places,' I said, and resigned myself to fate.
After all, I had been in a prison before, and learned that only
one jail lets no prisoner escape.

But when I found that my friend's orders were to hand me over to
the watch, and that I was to be confined like any common jail-
bird caught cutting a purse or slitting a throat, I confess my
heart sank. If I could get speech with the Cardinal, all would
probably be well; but if I failed in this, or if the case came
before him in strange guise, or if he were in a hard mood
himself, then it might go ill with me. The edict said, death!