It was not the fear of that that deterred me, but the
fear that did a charge of lead get mixed with my poor brains before I had
said what I went to say, matters would be no better, and there would be one
poor knave the less to adorn the world.
"What shall we do, Michelot?" I groaned, appealing in my despair to my
henchman.
"Might it not be well to seek speech with M. de Montr?sor?" quoth he.
I shrugged my shoulders. Nevertheless, after a moment's deliberation I
determined to make the attempt; if I succeeded something might come of it.
And so I pushed on to Blois with my knaves close at my heels.
Up the Rue Vieille we proceeded with caution, for the hostelry of the Vigne
d'Or, where Michelot had hired me a room, fortunately overlooking the
street, fronted the Lys de France, where St. Auban and his men were housed.
I gained that room of mine without mishap, and my first action was to deal
summarily with a fat and well-roasted capon which the landlord set before
me--for an empty stomach is a poor comrade in a desperate situation. That
meal, washed down with the best part of a bottle of red Anjou, did much to
restore me alike in body and in mind.
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