D'Artagnan, the King Maker — page 273: what you’re looking at

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

CHAPTER XXXIII. A CORPOREAL SHADE. Porthos, glorified by his resplendent apparel, found in the patio several footmen left by the impatient count-colonel to be his escort and to guide him to their meeting place. With the better-armed he had gone off. He gave them no time to admire his change, but, with his sword out, put himself at their head, the stew- ard by his side, and motioned the start. His lieuten- ant translated the gesture into words, and they sallied briskly out of the gardens. At the little door in the © wall convenient for the pavilion, two or three squires — were holding horses, as Porthos had descried from above, but they passed them without being challenged. The streets were so lonely that it was with amaze that they unexpectedly found their way completely blocked at a turning. A long wall, with towers at the angles, was that of the Carmelite Sisters’ Convent. The square building was visible over the parapet, spiked and studded with shards. A mob covered the space from the wall to the fronts of the opposite houses, mean and low. Instruments of every trade were flourished as weapons, showing that the men had come out of their shops at a general call. Porthos could see over his followers, who gathered around him at the halt, like hens around chanticleer. He made a little way into the press by sheer weight, and demanded, through the major domo, his interpreter, the cause of the collection, of a cook’s boy, who waved a saucepan like a mace. “Sirrah, pastry maker, why this obstacle to the high- way?” “Master,” returned the culinary artist, flattered by the address of a finely-clad gentleman, “that wretched old monk, the doorward to the Carmelite Convent, on seeing us coming, locked the gate in our faces and threw the <” over the wall.” Eomichooks.c¢om