that army which is itself the pick of all the armies in the world!"
With such encouraging conversation Captain George led his lately-enlisted recruit through a variety of winding streets, thronged at that busy hour with streams of passengers. These, however, for the most part, made way, with many marks of respect, for the officer of Musketeers; the women especially, looking back with unfeigned admiration and interest at the pair, according as they inclined to the stately symmetry of the one or the graceful and almost feminine beauty of the other. Perhaps, could they have known that the pale, dark-eyed youth following timidly half a pace behind his leader had only last night killed the deadliest fencer in Paris, they would have wasted no glances even on such a fair specimen of manhood as Captain George, but devoured his comrade with their bold black eyes, in a thrill of mingled horror, interest, and admiration, peculiar to their sex.
To reach the Rue des Quatres Fripons, it was necessary to pass a barrier, lately placed by Marshal de Villeroy's directions, to check the tide of traffic on occasion of the young King's transit through his future capital. This barrier was guarded by a post of Grey Musketeers, and at the moment Captain George approached it, one of his handsomest young officers was performing a series of bows by the door of a ponderous, heavily-gilt family coach, and explaining with considerable volubility his own desolation at the orders which compelled him to forbid the advance of this unwieldy vehicle. Six heavy coach-horses, two postilions, a coachman, four footmen, and two outriders, armed to the teeth—all jammed together in a narrow street, with a crowd of bystanders increasing every minute, served to create a sufficient complication, and a very pretty young lady inside, accompanied by one attendant, was already in tears. The attendant, a dark woman with a scarlet turban, scolded and cursed in excellent French, whilst one of the leaders took immediate advantage of the halt to rear on end and seize his comrade by the crest with a savage and discordant scream.
In such a turmoil it took George a few moments to recognise Madame de Montmirail's liveries, which he knew
