BOOK TENTH.
CHAPTER 5. THE RETREAT IN WHICH MONSIEUR LOUIS OF FRANCE SAYS HIS PRAYERS.
(continued)
"And do you recognize this man as your companion?"
added Louis XI., pointing to the other prisoner.
"No, I do not know him."
"That will do," said the king, making a sign with his finger
to the silent personage who stood motionless beside the door,
to whom we have already called the reader's attention.
"Gossip Tristan, here is a man for you."
Tristan l'Hermite bowed. He gave an order in a low voice
to two archers, who led away the poor vagabond.
In the meantime, the king had approached the second prisoner,
who was perspiring in great drops: "Your name?"
"Sire, Pierre Gringoire."
"Your trade?"
"Philosopher, sire."
"How do you permit yourself, knave, to go and besiege our
friend, monsieur the bailiff of the palace, and what have you
to say concerning this popular agitation?"
"Sire, I had nothing to do with it."
"Come, now! you wanton wretch, were not you apprehended
by the watch in that bad company?"
"No, sire, there is a mistake. 'Tis a fatality. I make
tragedies. Sire, I entreat your majesty to listen to me. I
am a poet. 'Tis the melancholy way of men of my profession
to roam the streets by night. I was passing there. It was
mere chance. I was unjustly arrested; I am innocent of this
civil tempest. Your majesty sees that the vagabond did
not recognize me. I conjure your majesty--"
"Hold your tongue!" said the king, between two swallows
of his ptisan. "You split our head!"
Tristan l'Hermite advanced and pointing to Gringoire,--
"Sire, can this one be hanged also?"
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