Pierre Pevel - By The Alchemist in the Shadows Page 0,83

sign, he did not react when a gentleman sat down next to him and asked without giving him a look:

'Did you have a safe journey from Flanders?'

'I've come from Lorraine.'

'Did you take pains to ensure you were not followed?'

'From Nancy?'

'The cardinal has eyes and ears everywhere.'

Leprat glanced at the stranger. He was slender and fair-haired, with a well-trimmed moustache and royale beard. He was elegantly but unobtrusively dressed in a beige doublet. And he had a friendly air.

The musketeer lowered his eyes to the gentleman's hands, who let him catch a glimpse of an opaline ring on his own index finger before he said:

'Wait a little while and then meet me around the back.'

He immediately rose and went out, after paying for the glass of wine which he had not touched.

Leprat imitated him five minutes later.

In the dark night, he had difficulty finding the narrow arched passageway that led to the rear of the tavern. He could not see a thing and was unfamiliar with the place. His instinct, moreover, told him that something was amiss. Had he already been unmasked? He thought for an instant about giving up, turning around and returning to the Hotel de l'Epervier.

Despite everything, he decided to continue.

And was knocked unconscious the moment he set foot in the rear courtyard.

Each house in Paris had a sign. The shops and taverns had them, of course. But so did the dwellings, which was how one told them apart in lieu of numbers. These signs served to designate the addresses of both commercial establishments and private individuals: Rue Saint-Martin, where the sign of the Red Cock hangs, for example. This only applied, however, to premises belonging to commoners. Private mansions, still reserved solely to the aristocracy under Louis XIII, did not have signs. Instead they took the names of their owners, often decorated with prestigious coats-of-arms on their pediment, and that was address enough: Hotel de Chateauneuf, rue Coquilliere. Or even: Hotel de Chevreuse, Paris.

Parisian streets were thus graced with innumerable signs in multicoloured wood that added to the capital's renown and gave it, when the weather was fine, a festive air. The subjects of these signs were varied — saints, kings of France and other sacred or profane characters; tools, weapons and utensils; trees, fruits and flowers; animals and other imaginary creatures — but showed no evidence, on the whole, of any real artistic vision or profound taste for the picturesque. For every Horse Wielding a Pickaxe or Gloved Wyvern, how many Tin Plates and Golden Lions? The most curious thing, however, was the fact that the signs for shops never evoked anything related to the nature of their business. There were no boots for cobblers or anvils for blacksmiths. Only taverns were required to distinguish themselves with a sheaf: a handful of knotted hay or twigs.

If signs served a useful purpose and brightened up an otherwise sordid urban setting, they nevertheless represented a certain hazard to the public due to the tendency of shopkeepers to give them excessive dimensions for the purposes of publicity. The ironwork that supported them often extended out a toise, or a measure of about two metres, into the street. Considering the width of an ordinary street in Paris, that meant signs often hung in the middle of the pavement. Added to the usual stalls and awnings, these ornaments thus hindered traffic and aggravated the crush in the most commercial streets, which were also the most heavily frequented. There were more than three hundred signs in the neighbourhood of Les Halles, and almost as many on rue Saint-Denis alone.

Coaches were constantly knocking them down. Riders on lorseback had to duck to avoid them. And even pedestrians )ften bashed their skulls on these gaudily painted wooden xinels.

Usually due to distraction.

But not always.

'Hup!'

Turning round, the man saw a monkey's head diving towards him, received a blow from the sign in the middle of his trow and keeled over backwards, while the suspended panel :ontinued its forward motion before reversing at the height of ts swing.

Marciac caught it and stopped its movement.

Then he gave a calm, satisfied look at the man lying un-:onscious in the street at his feet, his arms spread out in a ;ross.

This scene took place in rue Grenouillere at the crack of lawn where, as in the rest of Paris, the neighbourhood was ust beginning to wake.

Vlarciac returned to Les Petites Grenouilles on tiptoe. The louse was still sleeping at this hour of the morning, since the ast customers, as usual,