Blaise looked at me solemnly, with a face that seemed to say, "Did I not warn you?" We had seated ourselves at either side of a small, rough table, I on the edge of the bed, Blaise on a three-legged stool. For a moment I sat returning Blaise's gaze across the table; then noticing that the maid had left the door of our chamber slightly ajar, I arose and walked stealthily to the crack, through which I could see a part of the kitchen below. Blaise remained seated at the table, glumly watching me.

I saw the maid bearing wine to a table near the window, where sat the two guests whose names she had mentioned. The landlord was carrying a tray full of bottles and drinking-cups out to La Chatre's men, who remained before the inn, some having dismounted, some still on horse. I could hear their talk, their oaths and cries to one another and to their horses, the snorts and pawings of their steeds. A shout of welcome greeted the coming of the landlord with the wine.

With curiosity I fastened my gaze on the two at the table. I knew instantly that the stout, erect, authoritative gentleman with the carefully trimmed gray beard, full cheeks, proud brow, fearless eyes, and soldierly air, must be Claude de la Chatre, governor of the Orleannais and Berri; and that the slender, delicately formed, sinuous, graceful youth with smooth-shaven face, fine sharply cut features, intelligent forehead, reddish hair, intent gray eyes, and mien of pretended humility, was the governor's secretary, Montignac. La Chatre's look was frank, open, brave. Montignac had the face of a man assuming a character, and awaiting his opportunity, concealing his ambition and his pride, suppressing the scorn that strove to disclose itself at the corners of his womanish mouth. La Chatre wore a rich black velvet doublet and breeches, and black leather riding-boots. Montignac was dressed, in accordance with his pretence of servility, in a doublet of olive-colored cloth, breeches of the same material, and buff boots. He sat entirely motionless, looking across the table at his master with an almost imperceptibly mocking air of profound attention.

Monsieur de la Chatre appeared to be in a bad humor. He gulped down his wine hastily, seeming not to taste it. With a frown of irritation he drew from his belt a letter, of which the seal was already broken. Opening it with quick, angry motions, he held it before him, and frowned the more deeply.

"Peste!" he exclaimed, when the maid had left the kitchen; and then he went on in a rich, virile, energetic voice: "To be met on the road by such a letter! When I saw the courier in the distance I felt that he was bound for me, and that he brought annoyance with him. The duke has never before used such a tone to me. If he were on the ground, and knew the trouble these dogs of heretics give me, he would doubtless change his manner of speech."

"Monseigneur the Duke of Guise certainly wrote in haste, and therefore his expressions have an abruptness that he did not intend," replied Montignac, in a low, discreet, deferential voice, whose very tone was attuned to the policy of subtle flattery which he employed towards his master. "And he acknowledges, as well, your many successes as he complains of your failure to catch this Sieur de la Tournoire."

So the letter by which the governor was so irritated came from the Duke of Guise, and concerned myself! My work in Berri had not been in vain. Instinctively I grasped the hilt of my sword, and at the same time I smiled to myself to think how La Chatre might have felt had he known that, while himself and his secretary were the only persons in the inn kitchen, the Sieur de la Tournoire saw and heard them from the crack of the slightly open door at the top of the stairway. To make myself safer from discovery, I now took my eye from the crack, keeping my ear sufficiently near to catch the words of my enemies. I glanced at Blaise, who had heard enough to acquaint him with the situation, and whose open-eyed face had taken on an expression of alertness and amazement comical to behold. He, too, had mechanically clutched the handle of his sword. Neither of us moving or speaking, we both listened. But the governor's next words were drowned by the noise that came from outside, as the landlord opened the front door to reenter the inn. La Chatre's men, now supplied with wine, had taken up a song with whose words and tune we were well acquainted.

"Hang every heretic high,
Where the crows and pigeons pass!
Let the brood of Calvin die;
Long live the mass!
A plague on the Huguenots, ah!
Let the cry of battle ring:
Huguenots, Huguenots, Huguenots, ah!
Long live the king!"

The singers uttered the word "Huguenots," and the exclamation "ah," with an expression of loathing and scorn which could have been equalled only by the look of defiance and hate that suddenly alighted on the face of Blaise. He gave a deep gulp, as if forcing back, for safety, some answering cry that rose from his breast and sought exit. Then he ground his teeth, and through closed lips emitted from his throat a low growl, precisely like that of a pugnacious dog held in restraint.

The landlord closed the door, and the song of La Chatre's men sank into a rudely melodious murmur. The host then went out by a rear door, and the governor resumed the conversation.

"Corboeuf! He is a fox, this Tournoire, who makes his excursions by night, and who cannot be tracked to his burrow."

"We know, at least," put in the secretary, in his mild way, "that his burrow is somewhere in the wooded mountains at the southern border of the province."

"Then he knows those mountains better than the garrisons do," said La Chatre. "The troops from the southern towns have hunted the hills in vain."

"When such a task as the capture of this rebel is entrusted to many, it is not undertaken with zeal. The chance of success, the burden of responsibility, the blame of failure, are alike felt to be divided."

This observation on the part of the youthful secretary seemed to be regarded by the governor as presumptuous. It elicited from him a frown of reproof. His look became cold and haughty. Whereupon Montignac gently added:

"As you, monsieur, remarked the other day."

La Chatre's expression immediately softened.

"The governor's brains are in the head of the secretary," thought I; "and their place in his own head is taken by vanity."

"I remember," returned La Chatre. "And I added, did I not, that—ahem, that—"

"That the finding of this Huguenot nuisance ought to be made the particular duty of one chosen person, who should have all to gain by success, or, better still, all to lose by failure."

And the suave secretary looked at his master with an expression of secret contempt and amusement, although the innocent governor doubtless saw only the respect and solicitude which the young man counterfeited.

"You are right," said the governor, with unconcealed satisfaction. "I ought to reward you for reminding me. But your reward shall come, Montignac. The coming war will give me the opportunity to serve both the King and the Duke of Guise most effectually, and by whatever favor I gain, my faithful secretary shall benefit."

"My benefit will be due to your generosity, not to my poor merit, monsieur," replied Montignac, with an irony too delicate for the perception of the noble governor.

"Oh, you have merit, Montignac," said La Chatre, with lofty condescension. Then he glanced at the letter, and his face clouded. "But meanwhile," he added, in obedience to a childish necessity of communicating his troubles, "my favor depends, even for its continuance in its present degree, on the speedy capture of this Tournoire. The rascal appears to have obtained the special animosity of the Duke by some previous act. Moreover, he is an enemy to the King, also a deserter from the French Guards, so that he deserves death on various accounts, old and new."

Herein I saw exemplified the inability of the great to forget or forgive any who may have eluded their power.

"Let me, therefore," continued the governor, "consider as to what person shall be chosen for the task of bagging this wary game."

And he was silent, seeming to be considering in his mind, but really, I thought, waiting for the useful Montignac to suggest some one.

"It need not be a person of great skill," said Montignac, "if it be one who has a strong motive for accomplishing the service with success. For, indeed, the work is easy. The chosen person," he went on, as if taking pleasure in showing the rapidity and ingenuity of his own thoughts, "has but to go to the southern border, pretending to be a Huguenot trying to escape the penalties of the new edicts. In one way or another, by moving among the lower classes, this supposed fugitive will find out real Huguenots, of whom there are undoubtedly some still left at Clochonne and other towns near the mountains. Several circumstances have shown that this Tournoire has made himself, or his agents, accessible to Huguenots, for these escapes of heretics across the border began at the same time when his rescues of Huguenot prisoners began. Without doubt, any pretended Protestant, apparently seeking guidance to Guienne, would, in associating with the Huguenots along the Creuse, come across one who could direct him to this Tournoire."

"But what then?" said the governor, his eagerness making him forget his pretence of being wiser than his secretary. "To find him is not to make him prisoner,—for the Duke desires him to be taken alive. He probably has a large following of rascals as daring and clever as himself."

"Knowing his hiding-place, you would send a larger body of troops against him."

"But," interposed the governor, really glad to have found a weak point in the plan suggested by his secretary, "in order to acquaint me with his hiding-place, if he has a permanent hiding-place, my spy would have to leave him. This would excite his suspicions, and he would change his hiding-place. Or, indeed, he may be entirely migratory, and have no fixed place of camping. Or, having one, he might change it, for any reason, before my troops could reach it. Doubtless, his followers patrol the hills, and could give him ample warning in case of attack."

"Your spy," said Montignac, who had availed himself of the governor's interruption to empty a mug of wine, "would have to find means of doing two things,—the first to make an appointment with La Tournoire, which would take him from his men; the second, to inform you of that appointment in time for you to lead or send a company of soldiers to surprise La Tournoire at the appointed place."

"Par dieu, Montignac!" cried the governor, with a laugh of derision. "Drink less wine, I pray you! Your scheme becomes preposterous. Of what kind of man do you take him to be, this Sieur de la Tournoire, who offers a reward, in my own province, for my head and that of the Duke of Guise?"

"The scheme, monsieur," said Montignac, quietly, not disclosing to the governor the slightest resentment at the latter's ridicule, "is quite practicable. This is the manner in which it can be best conducted. Your chosen spy must be provided with two messengers, with whom he may have communication as circumstances may allow. When the spy shall have met La Tournoire, and learned his hiding-place, if he have a permanent one, one messenger shall bring the information to you at Bourges, that you may go to Clochonne to be near at hand for the final step. Having sent the first messenger, the spy shall fall ill, so as to have apparent reason for not going on to Guienne. On learning of your arrival at Clochonne,—an event of which La Tournoire is sure to be informed,—your spy shall make the appointment of which I spoke, and shall send the second messenger to you at Clochonne with word of that appointment, so that your troops can be at hand."

"The project is full of absurdities, Montignac," said the governor, shaking his head.

"Enumerate them, monsieur," said Montignac, without change of tone or countenance.

"First, the lesser one. Why impede the spy with the necessity of communicating with more than one messenger?"

"Because the spy may succeed in learning the enemy's hiding-place, if there be one, and yet fail in the rest of the design. To learn his hiding-place is at least something worth gaining, though the project accomplish nothing more. Moreover, the arrival of the first messenger will inform you that the spy is on the ground and has won La Tournoire's confidence, and that it is time for you to go to Clochonne. The appointment must not be made until you are near at hand, for great exactness must be observed as to time and place, so that you can surely surprise him while he is away from his men."

"Montignac, I begin to despair of you," said the governor, with a look of commiseration. "How do you suppose that La Tournoire could be induced to make such an appointment? What pretext could be invented for requesting such a meeting? In what business could he be interested that would require a secret interview at a distance from his followers?"

I thought the governor's questions quite natural, and was waiting in much curiosity for the answer of Montignac, of whose perspicacity I was now beginning to lose my high opinion, when the inn-maid entered the kitchen, and the secretary repressed the reply already on his lips. She took from the spit a fowl that had been roasting, and brought it to our chamber. To avoid exciting her suspicions I had to leave my place of observation and reseat myself on the bed.

Having placed the fowl, hot and juicy, on the table between us, the maid went away, again leaving the door partly open. Blaise promptly attacked the fowl, but I returned to my post of outlook.

"Lack of zeal?" I heard the governor say. "Par-dieu, where have I let a known Huguenot rest in peace in my provinces since the edicts have been proclaimed? And I have even made Catholics suffer for showing a disposition to shield heretics. There was that gentleman of this very town—"

"M. de Varion," put in Montignac.

"Ay, M. de Varion,—a good Catholic. Yet I caused his arrest because he hid his old friend, that Polignart, who had turned heretic. Mon dieu, what can I do more? I punish not only heretics, but also those who shield heretics. Yet the Duke of Guise hints that I lack zeal!"

"As to M. de Varion," said Montignac; "what is your intention regarding him?"

"To make an example of him, that hereafter no Catholic will dare shelter a Huguenot on the score of old friendship. Let him remain a prisoner in the chÂteau of Fleurier until the judges, whom I will instruct, shall find him guilty of treason. Then his body shall hang at the chÂteau gate for the nourishment of the crows."

"Fortunately," said Montignac listlessly, "he has no family to give trouble afterward."

"No son," replied the governor. "Did not M. de Brissard say that there was a daughter?"

"Yes, an unmarried daughter who was visiting some bourgeois relation in
Bourges at the time of her father's arrest."

"When she learns of her father's incarceration she will probably pester me with supplications for his release. See to it, Montignac, that this Mlle. de Varion be not suffered to approach me."

My eavesdropping was again interrupted by the return of the inn-maid. On going out of the chamber this time, she closed the door. Hunger and prudence, together, overcoming my curiosity, I did not open it, but joined Blaise in disposing of the dinner. The table at which we ate was near the window of the chamber, and we could look out on the grassy space of land before the inn. La Chatre's men were moving about, looking to their horses and harness, talking in little groups, and watching for their master's appearance at the inn door.

Presently four new figures came into view, all mounted. From our window we could see them plainly as they approached the inn. One of these newcomers was a young lady who wore a mask. At her side rode a maid, slim, youthful, and fresh-looking. Behind these were two serving boys, one tall, large, and strong; the other small and agile.

"By the blue heaven!" Blaise blurted out; "a dainty piece of womankind!"

"Silence, Blaise!" I said, reprovingly. "How dare you speak with such liberty of a lady?"

"I thought I was supposed to be masquerading as a gentleman," he growled.
"But it was not of the lady that I spoke. It was the maid."

The lady had the slender figure of a woman of twenty. Over a tight-fitting gown of blue cloth, she wore a cloak of brown velvet, which was open at the front. Fine, wavy brown hair was visible beneath her large brown velvet hat. She wore brown gloves and carried a riding whip. As for her face, her black mask concealed the upper part, but there were disclosed a delicate red mouth and a finely cut chin. The throat was white and full.

The maid was smaller than the mistress. She had a pretty face, rather bold blue eyes, an impudent little mouth, an expression of self-confidence and challenge.

La Chatre's men made room for this little cavalcade to pass to the inn. The maid looked at them disdainfully, but the lady glanced neither to right nor left. Having ridden up close to the inn, they dismounted and entered, thus passing out of our sight.

I would fain have again looked down into the kitchen, now that these attractive guests had arrived to disturb the governor's confidential talk, but the inn-maid had closed our chamber door tight, and I might have attracted the governor's attention by opening it. Moreover, I could not long cherish the idea of watching, unobserved, the movements of a lady. So, for some time, Blaise and I confined our attention to the dinner, Blaise frequently casting a glance at the door as if he would have liked to go down-stairs and make a closer inspection of the pretty face of the maid.

Several times we heard voices, now that of a lady, now that of the governor, as if the two were conversing together, but the words spoken were not distinguishable. It did not please me to think that the lady might have come hither to join the governor.

At last the noise of La Chatre's men remounting told us that the governor had rejoined them from the inn. Looking out of the window, we saw him at their head, a splendid, commanding figure. Montignac, studious-looking, despite the horse beneath him, was beside the governor. I noticed that the secretary sat a horse as well as any of the soldiers did. I observed, too, and with pleasure, that the lady was not with them; therefore, she was still in the inn. I was glad to infer that her acquaintance with La Chatre was but casual, and that her meeting with him at the inn had been by chance.

The governor jerked his rein, and the troop moved off, northward, bound I knew not whither, the weapons and harness shining in the sunlight. I turned to Blaise with a smile of triumph.

"And now what of your croakings?" I asked. "As if the safest place in all France for us was not within sound of M. de la Chatre's voice, where he would never suppose us to be! It did not even occur to him to ask what guests were in the upper chamber! What would he have given to know that La Tournoire sat drinking under the same roof with him! Instead of coming to disaster, we have heard his plans, and are thus put on our guard. More of your evil forebodings, my amiable Blaise! They mean good."

But Blaise looked none the less gloomy. "There is yet time for evil to come of this journey, my captain," he said gravely.

I now made haste to finish my meal, that I might go down into the kitchen ere the lady in the brown robe should depart.

Presently, Blaise, glancing out of the window, exclaimed, "The devil! We are not yet rid of our friends! There is one of them, at least!"

I looked out and saw two mounted gentlemen, one of whom was Montignac, the governor's secretary, who had ridden back. The other, with whom he was talking in low tones, and with an air of authority, was a man of my own age, dressed in the shabby remains of rich clothes. His face showed the marks of dissipation, and had a cynical, daredevil look. Now and then a sarcastic smile broke suddenly over the handsome and once noble features.

"I have seen that man, somewhere, before," said I to Blaise.

While I stood searching my memory, and the man sat talking to Montignac, both having stopped their horses in front of the inn, there tramped up, from the South, four other travellers, all of a kind very commonly seen on the highways, in those days of frequent war. They were ragged soldiers of fortune, out at elbows, red of cheek and nose, all having the same look of brow-beating defiance, ready to turn, in a moment, into abject servility. The foremost of these was a big burly fellow with a black beard, and a fierce scowl.

As he came up towards the gentleman with whom Montignac was talking, there suddenly came on me a sense of having once, in the dim past, been in strangely similar circumstances to those in which I was now. Once, long ago, had I not looked out in danger from a place of concealment upon a meeting of those two men before an inn?

The burly rascal saluted the mounted gentleman, saying, in a coarse, strident voice:

"At your service, M. le Vicomte de Berquin."

"Know your place, Barbemouche!" was the quick reply. "I am talking with a gentleman."

Then I remembered the morning after my flight from Paris, seven years before. Montignac's reckless-looking companion had been the gay gentleman going north, at whom I had looked from an inn shed. The other was the man who had afterwards chased me southward at the behest of the Duke of Guise. But he no longer wore on his hat the white cross of Lorraine, and the Vicomte de Berquin's apparel was no longer gay and spotless. The two had doubtless fallen on hard ways. Both showed the marks of reverses and hard drinking. Barbemouche's sword was, manifestly, no longer in the pay of the Duke of Guise, but was ready to serve the first bidder.

Barbemouche shrugged his shoulders at De Berquin's reproof, and led his three sorry-looking companions to a bench in front of the inn, where they searched their pockets for coin before venturing to cross the threshold.

Montignac now pointed to the inn, spoke a few last earnest words to Berquin, handed the latter a few gold pieces, cast at him a threatening look at parting, and galloped off to rejoin M. de la Chatre, whose cavalcade was now out of our sight. De Berquin gave him an ironical bow, kissed the gold pieces before pocketing them, dismounted, and entered the inn, replying only with a laugh to the supplicating looks of the moneyless Barbemouche and his hungry-looking comrades on the bench.

"Now I wonder what in the devil's name the governor's secretary was saying to that man?" growled Blaise Tripault.

For reply, I gave a look which reflected the surmise that I saw in
Blaise's own eyes.

"Well," I said, "if it be that, the Vicomte de Berquin will be a vastly ingenious gentleman if he can either find our hiding-place, or delude me away from my men. To think that they should have chosen the first mercenary wretch they met on their way! Yet doubtless the perspicacious Montignac knows his man."

"The secretary pointed to this inn as if he were telling him that you were here," observed Blaise, meditatively.

"But inasmuch as the secretary does not know that I am here," said I, "his pointing to the inn could not have accompanied that information. He was doubtless advising his friend to begin his enterprise with a hearty meal, which was very good advice. And now, as this Vicomte de Berquin does not know me by sight, let us go down and make his acquaintance. Remember that you are the master, and make a better pretence of it than you have usually made."

"I pretend the master no worse than you pretend the servant," muttered Blaise, while I opened the door of our chamber. A moment later we were descending the stairs leading to the kitchen.

An unexpected sight met our eyes. M. de Berquin stood with his back to a rear door, his arms extended, as if to prevent the departure of the lady, who stood facing him, in the attitude of shrinking back from him. She still wore her mask. Beside her stood her maid, who darted looks of indignation at the smiling De Berquin. These three were the only ones in the kitchen.

"I do not know you, monsieur!" the lady was saying, in a low voice of great beauty.

"Death of my life! But you shall know me, mademoiselle," replied De Berquin, who had not noticed the entrance of myself and Blaise; "for I intend to guard you from harm on the rest of your journey, whether you will or not!"

Blaise shot at me a glance of interrogation. To keep up our assumed characters, it was for him, not me, to interfere in behalf of this lady; yet he dared not act without secret direction from me. But I forgot our pretence and hastened forward, my hand on my sword-hilt.

"I fear monsieur is annoying mademoiselle," I said, gently, assuming that
De Berquin had been correct in addressing her as mademoiselle.

Startled at the voice of a newcomer, the three turned and looked at me in surprise. Blaise, at a loss as to what he ought to do, remained in the background.

"But," I added, "monsieur will not do so again for the present."

De Berquin took me in at a glance, and, deceived by my dress, said carelessly, "Go to the devil!" Then, turning from me to Blaise, as one turns from an inferior to an equal, he remarked:

"You have a most impudent servant, monsieur!"

Blaise, embarrassed by the situation, and conscious that the curious eyes of the lady and the maid were upon him, could only shrug his shoulders in reply. The maid, whom he had so much admired, turned to her mistress with a look of astonishment at his seeming indifference. Seeing this, Blaise became very red in the face.

It was I who answered De Berquin, and with the words:

"And your servant, if you have one, has a most impudent master."

De Berquin turned pale with rage at the insulting allusion to his somewhat indigent appearance.

"Your master shall answer for your impertinence!" he cried, drawing his sword and making for Blaise.

In an instant my own sword was out, and I was barring his way.

"Let us argue the matter, monsieur!" said I.

"Peste!" he hissed. "I fight not lackeys!"

"You will fight me," I said, "or leave the presence of this lady at once!"

Impelled by uncontrollable wrath, he thrust at me furiously. With a timely twist, I sent his sword flying from his hand to the door. I motioned him to follow it.

Completely astonished, he obeyed my gesture, went and picked up his sword, opened the door, and then turned to Blaise and spoke these words, in a voice that trembled with rage:

"Monsieur, since you let your menial handle your sword for you, I cannot hope for satisfaction. But though I am no great prophet, I can predict that both you and your cur shall yet feel the foot of my lackey on your necks. And, mademoiselle," he added, removing his look to the lady, "this is not the end of it with you!"

With which parting threats, he strode out of the inn, closing the door after him.

Blaise, deprived by his false position of the power of speech, stood with frowning brow and puffed-out cheeks, nervously clutching at his sword-hilt. The lady and her maid looked at him with curiosity, as if a gentleman who would stand idly and speechlessly by, while his servant resented an insult to a lady, was a strange being, to be viewed with wonder.

"Mademoiselle," said I, laying my sword on a table, "heaven is kind to me in having led me where I might have the joy of serving you."

The lady, whose musical voice had the sound of sadness in it, answered with the graciousness warranted by the occasion:

"My good man, your sword lifts you above your degree, even," and here she glanced at Blaise, and continued in a tone of irrepressible contempt, "as the tameness of some gentlemen lowers them beneath theirs."

Blaise, from whose nature tameness was the attribute farthest removed, looked first at the lady, in helpless bewilderment, then at me, with mute reproach for having placed him in his ridiculous position, and lastly at the maid, who regarded him with open derision. To be laughed at by this piquant creature, to whose charms he had been so speedily susceptible, was the crowning misery. His expression of woe was such that I could not easily retain my own serious and respectful countenance.

Having to make some answer to the lady, I said:

"An opportunity to defend so fair a lady would elevate the most ignoble."

The lady, not being accustomed to exchanging compliments with a man-servant, went to her maid and talked with her in whispers, the two both gazing at Blaise with expressions of mirth.

Blaise strode to my side with an awkwardness quite new to him. His face was in a violent perspiration.

"The devil!" he whispered. "How they laugh at me! Won't you explain?"

"Impossible!"

"I object to being taken for a calf," said Blaise, ready to burst with anger. Then, suddenly reaching the limit of his endurance, he faced the lady and blurted out:

"Mademoiselle, I would have run your pursuer through quickly enough, but
I dared not rob my master—"

I coughed a warning against his betraying us. He hesitated, then despairingly added, in a voice of resignation:

"—my master, the King, of a single stroke of this sword, which I have devoted entirely to his service."

"I do not doubt," said the lady, with cold irony, "that your sword is active enough when drawn in the service of your King."

"My King," replied Blaise with dignity, "had the goodness to make a somewhat similar remark when he took Cahors!"

"Cahors?" repeated the lady in a tone of perplexity. "But the King never took Cahors!"

"The King of France,—no!" cried Blaise; "but the King of Navarre did!"

"Blaise!" I cried, in angry reproof at his imprudence.

The tone in which I spoke had so startled the lady that she dropped her mask, and I saw the sweetest face that ever gladdened the eyes of a man. It was the face of a girl naturally of a cheerful nature, but newly made acquainted with sorrow. Grief had not rendered the nature, or the face, unresponsive to transient impressions of a pleasant or mirthful kind. Hers was one of those hearts in which grief does not exclude all possibility of gaiety. Sorrow might lie at the bottom, never forgotten and never entirely concealed, but merriment might ripple on the surface. As for its outlines, the face, in every part, harmonized with the grace and purity of the chin and mouth. Her eyes were blue and large, with an eloquence displayed without intent or consciousness.

"What does it mean?" she said, in a charming bewilderment. "The servant reproves the master. Ah! I see! The servant is the master."

And she smiled with pleasure at her discovery.

"But still your servant, mademoiselle," was all that I could say.

Blaise vented a great breath of relief. "I feel better now," he said, heartily, and he turned with a beaming countenance to the maid, who looked at his stalwart form and promptly revised her opinion of him. The two were soon in conversation together, at the fireplace, and I was left to complete explanations with the lady, who did not attempt the coquetry of replacing her mask.

"Our secret is yours, mademoiselle, and our safety is in your hands."

"Your secret is safe, monsieur," she said, modestly averting her eyes from my frankly admiring look. "And now I understand why it was you who drew sword."

"A privilege too precious to be resigned," I answered in a low tone, "even for the sake of my secret and my safety."

My words were spoken so tenderly that she sought relief from her charming embarrassment by taking up my sword from the table, and saying, with a smile:

"I have you in my power, monsieur, follower of the King of Navarre! What if I were minded, on behalf of the governor of this province, to make you a prisoner?"

"My faith!" I could only reply, "you need no sword to make prisoners of men."

"You hope to purchase your freedom with a compliment," she said, continuing the jest; "but you cannot close my eyes with flattery."

"It would be a crime beyond me to close eyes so beautiful!"

She gave a pretty little smile and shrug of helplessness, as if to say, "I cannot help it, monsieur, if you will overwhelm me with compliments which are not deserved, I am powerless to prevent you." But the compliments were all the more deserved because she seemed to think them not so.

Her modesty weakened my own audacity, and her innocent eyes put me into a kind of confusion. So I changed the subject.

"It appears to me, mademoiselle," I said, "that I have had the honor of ridding you of unpleasant company."

Her face quickly clouded, as if my words had brought to her mind a greater trouble than the mere importunities of an insolent adventurer.

"De Berquin!" she said, and then heaved a deep sigh; "I had forgotten about him."

"I would not commit his offence of thrusting unwelcome company on you," I replied; "but I would gladly offer you for a few leagues the sword that has already put him to flight."

She was for some time silent. Then she answered slowly in a low voice, "I ride towards Clochonne, monsieur."

Taking this for an acceptance of my offer, I sheathed my sword, and replied with an animation that betrayed my pleasure:

"And I towards the same place, mademoiselle. When you choose to set out,
I am ready."

"I am ready now, monsieur—," she said, lingering over the word "monsieur," as if trying to recall whether or not I had told her my name.

It was no time at which to disclose the title under which I was known throughout the province as one especially proscribed, and yet I was unwilling to pass under a false name. Therefore, I said:

"I am M. de Launay, once of Anjou, but now of nowhere in particular. The great have caused my chÂteau to be scattered over my lands, stone by stone, and have otherwise encouraged my taste for travel and adventure."

At this moment, glancing towards Blaise, I saw on his face a look of alarm and disapproval, as if he feared that the lady or her maid might be aware that De Launay and La Tournoire were one man, but it was manifest from their faces that he had no cause for such an apprehension.

The lady smiled at my description, and adjusting her gloves, replied:

"And I am Mlle. de Varion, daughter of a gentleman of Fleurier—"

"What!" I interrupted, "the Catholic gentleman who has been imprisoned for sheltering a Huguenot?"

"Yes," she answered, sorrowfully, and then with a strange trepidation she went on: "and it is to save myself from imprisonment that I have determined to flee to the south, in the hope of finding refuge in one of the provinces controlled by your King of Navarre."

"But," I interposed, "how can you be in danger of imprisonment? It was not you, but your father, who violated the edict."

"Nevertheless," she answered, in a low and unsteady voice, averting her glance to the floor, "M. de la Chatre, the governor of the province, has threatened me with imprisonment if I remain in Berry."

"Doubtless," I said with indignation, "the governor does this in order to escape the importunities you would make in your father's behalf. He would save his tender heart from the pain of being touched by your pleadings."

"It may be so," she answered faintly.

I did not tell her that the idea of releasing her father had already entered my head. In order to bring him safe out of the ChÂteau of Fleurier, it would be necessary for me to return to Maury for my company. The attempt would be a hazardous one, and I might fail, and I did not wish to raise hopes in her for disappointment. She should not learn of my intention until after its fulfillment. In the meantime, less because I thought she would really undergo danger by remaining at Fleurier, than because I was loth to lose the new-found happiness that her presence gave me, I would conduct her to Maury, on the pretext of its being the best place whence to make, at a convenient time, a safe flight to Guienne.

Having summoned the landlord and paid him, I waited for Mlle. de Varion to precede me out of the door. There was a moment's delay while her maid sought the riding whip which mademoiselle had laid down on one of the tables. At this moment, there came to me the idea of a jest which would furnish me with amusement on the road southward, and afford mademoiselle an interesting surprise on her arrival at Maury.

"It occurs to me, mademoiselle," said I, "that you will be glad to have some guidance across the border. Let me recommend to you one, whose services I think I can assure you, and whom we may fall in with in the vicinity of Clochonne,—the Sieur de la Tournoire."

Mademoiselle turned white, and stared at me with a look of terror on her face.

"Decidedly," I thought, "as the mere mention of my name produces such an effect on her, it is well that I am not going to introduce myself until she shall have learned that I am not such a terrible cutthroat as the Catholics in this province think me." And I said aloud:

"Fear not, mademoiselle. He is not as bad as his enemies represent him."

"I shall be glad to have his guidance," she said, still pale.

We left the inn and took horse, being joined, outside, by mademoiselle's two serving-boys. Resuming his character of gentleman, Blaise rode ahead with the lady, while I followed at the side of the maid, he casting many an envious glance at the place I occupied, and I reciprocating his feelings if not his looks. Nevertheless, I was sufficiently near mademoiselle to be able to exchange speeches with her. The day was at its best. The sun shone; a gentle breeze played with the red and yellow leaves in the roadway, and I was happy.

Looking down a byway as we passed, I saw, at some distance, M. de Berquin talking to Barbemouche, while the latter's three scurvy-looking companions stood by, as if awaiting the outcome of the conversation between the two.

"Oho, M. de Berquin!" I said to myself, with an inward laugh; "I do not know whether you are bargaining for help to persecute Mlle. de Varion, or to spy on the Sieur de la Tournoire; but it has come to pass that you can do both at the same time."