D'Artagnan, the King Maker — page 210: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

A Waive. 197 things so quietly while the better-to-do are making such a to-do, like rats ina pit! Oh, happy the beggar who recks not whether Philip or Juan reigns! He is not afraid that either can extract gold out of his rags!” But the beggars on the Carmel Church steps were not regialing themselves, except intellectually—they, too, were discussing the flying news. A very fat cripple, intertwined with his crutch like the serpents of Mercury with his rod, observed complacently : “They say that the freebooters whom Don Juan of Braganza thires to thelp him put down the loyal have sworn to put to Vige simatinn all the good folk they capture, and they are sailing up the river even now!” “If that is anything like vegetarianism, which the anchorites practiced and King Nabucho went down on all fours to test,’ said another, who had the cropped top of a priest expelled, “I hold they are barbarians in troth. As long as there are sheep and goats, [ preach: ‘Eat what will make good bone and flesh.’ ” “Long may you preach, then!” commented Porthos. “This is the land of Alfonso the Wise, D’Artagnan tells me.” “You dolt!’ interposed another, who looked like a Moorish sophy who had discarded his creed but not enor- mous scraped horn goggles, “Vi-ges-i-mation is just to put every twentieth man to death!” “Then, judging by the bulk of that Lame Man there, he will count as two, and I will place myself next to him if he is partly nineteen!” Poor M. du Vallon turned away; what hope where beggars dined in the Barmecide kitchen? He circled round the church ruefully, scanning its grimed and bat- tered facade. In a window a sundial indicated an hour after noon. Two or three heretical books, fastened by great spikes to the walls, between stones, said to be brought from the Holy Land, fluttered the loosened part of their leaves like wings of pinned-up owls. A ragged rogue, with his back exquisitely pressed against one of those petrean wonders called “warming stones,” was droning a seditious song to the thrumming of an Arabian atabal: (EOI DOO KS,(EO)