D'Artagnan, the King Maker — page 280: what you’re looking at

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

Tapping the Volcano. 203 “If they had a head, I would question him,” said the colonel. “A gentleman cannot address a horde!” At this, a rider made his way, with difficulty, and more by wheedling speech than his horse’s shoulders, through the concourse; he could define that Porthos and the other were the commanding officers. “General,”’ said he, judging the Frenchman by his coat, and, besides, like a clever subaltern, wishing to court favor by promoting him honorably, “the mob is im- mense around the Viceroy’s palace; it has been swelling from five this morning.” ‘They have taken their time!” “Oh, they are not pressed. Many came in from the countryside; they ate their dinner off their palm.” “What news? You have not hurried it.” “The people put the night-chains across the streets and dug trenches here and there to mire the artillery. J had to leap my horse, and strained his tendons. The police lieutenant sent out a file of us to bring in all strag- gling soldiers, but they have got out over the walls. They say the enemy’s van is at hand, and gladly receives deserters—every private is made a corporal, and so on. But hasten, if you would save the vice-queen! I hear shots! You may be too late!” “Well, sir?’ asked Jorge, of the Frenchman, politely. “Well, colonel, I should leave the Corregidor to discuss the price of fish with this Pedro! A vice-queen is worth a couple of corregidors, sex apart! In picking this fish, the bones may prick our fingers. Let us hasten to the great lady’s aid, as this worthy cavalier suggests.” Porthos had no desire to charge upon his friend Pedro. Count Marianda might be obstinate, but his men did not like the prospect of an advance under a rear fire. Those cloaks had unmasked short guns, as Porthos had surmised. They had the impression that the castle was a crater and they did not court tapping the lava. At his sign the two fifers struck up and the long-bar- reled drum was thumped. They formed a solid, if thin column, and pierced the crowd, which sullenly opened and closed immediately. “Mark!” said the musketeer. He was confining himself to monosyllables. GoOMmichbookssco