honor to themselves; high or low, there is not one of them worth our little fingers!"
This brought on a great dispute. Gueurlu persisted that our betters from the least to the greatest, from our own Duke up to the princes, did nothing but grab, and stufif their bellies with other folks' dinners; and even laid hands on the King's treasures as soon as the breath was out of his body;—that there was no use in talking about "honor" after that;—we might as well take a leaf out of their book.
Calabre said they were indeed a set of hogs, and that some day our Henry would come back from the tomb to make them disgorge, or else we would all rise ourselves, and cut their throats for them. But meanwhile, we were going to show them that there was more real honor in us than in the heart of what they call a nobleman.
"Hooray!" cried I; "you are with us then?"
"Yes, by the Mother of God! And Gueurlu is coming too."
"No, he isn't!"
"I tell you he is, or I'll pitch him neck and crop into the river! Here we go, forward march! Out of my road, Wrigglers!"
He forced his way through the press, and we followed like a school of herrings. Most of the men
