"Who is this other?"
"An Italian adventurer, a paltry goldsmith, whose name you perhaps have heard; an intriguing rascal named Benvenuto Cellini, who came from Florence some two months since, whom the king has taken upon his shoulders for some unknown reason, and to whom he paid a visit to-day with his whole court at the Cardinal of Ferrara's hotel, where this pretended artist has established his studio."
"And you say that you were present, viscount, when the king presented the Grand-Nesle to this wretch?"
"I was," replied Marmagne, pronouncing the words very slowly and distinctly, and dwelling upon them with evident relish.
"Oho!" said the provost, "very good! I am ready for your adventurer: let him come and take possession of his royal gift."
"Do you mean that you would offer resistance?"
"To be sure!"
"To an order of the king?"
"To an order of God or the devil,—to any order, in short, which should undertake to eject me from this place."
"Softly, provost, softly," said Marmagne, "over and above the king's wrath, to which you expose yourself, this Benvenuto Cellini is in himself more to be feared than you think."