Man of the world and of many experiences as I was; old courtier, who had seen the fairest of my land in the galleries of the Tournelles, or the salons of the Louvre, I confess that I had never seen so graceful a figure, or heard so sweet a voice as that which thanked me now. As for her, when I stepped up, my sword still in my hand, some thought that she had only escaped the beak of the vulture to feel the talons of the hawk made her shrink back into silence.

I felt this, and, bowing, said gravely: "There is no danger now, mademoiselle. I doubt if our friends will return; but I fear it is far to any refuge to-night."

My words had effect. She was brave enough, and she answered:

"We are not far from the Mable, monsieur!"

"From the Mable! Then MarÇay is behind?"

"About six miles."

"Ah! I thought we had overridden ourselves. And Richelieu is at hand?"

"'Tis but a bare league."

"Then in two hours at most we will be there. You will, of course, ride my horse, and Pierrebon and I will share the other."

"Thank you!" she said simply. And then with an effort, as she pointed before her: "Monsieur, there is a man lying there who gave up his life for me. I cannot leave him thus."

And Pierrebon answered: "There are two, lady. I have covered them with their cloaks, for they are both dead."

"A moment," I said, and I too went and looked at the twain.

There was no mistake. For these two the trees and the sky, the good and the bad of the world had ceased to be; and as I pulled their cloaks over their faces I muttered to myself, with a remembrance of the course of "The Philosophy":

"Maximum vitae bonum mors."

Then I came back to the lady's side. "Mademoiselle, for these two lying there, the honest man and the knave, what can be done at present has been done. Come, I pray you! It grows late."

"Oh, but I cannot!" And she too went forward to where the long dark things lay stretched out on the sward, and shrinking, she looked, and then on a sudden she sank on her knees, and prayed, and because, whatever had happened, I had never lost my faith in God, without whom we are nothing, I knelt too, and Pierrebon with me, and in our own way we each sought comfort. After a while mademoiselle rose again, and with a voice half choked with tears, said:

"Monsieur, I am ready."

We placed her on my brown horse, which Pierrebon led, I riding his, and so we took our way in silence—a silence now and again broken by a sob from the girl. I said nothing, deeming it wiser to let her be with her thoughts; but as we came to the skirts of the wood I spoke:

"Mademoiselle, I promise you that I will see to the Christian burial of your friend."

And then she wept unrestrainedly. To tell the truth, I knew not what to do, and Pierrebon kept his head well to the front, looking neither to the right nor to the left. In sheer desperation I asked her not to weep, whereat she wept the more; and then I touched her shoulder with my hand, as one would caress a child; but she shook me off, turning a face that seemed scared with terror to me, and I could only stammer out an apology, and remain silent. At last the violence of her grief abated, and I ventured to ask who the dead man was.

"He," she answered sadly, "was a trusted servant, and he was taking me home. His name was Olivet."

"Will not mademoiselle do me the honour to give me her name as well? I am called Bertrand Broussel."

She looked up as I spoke, and a nervous laugh escaped her.

"I am glad I know your name, monsieur; it is one I shall always think upon with gratitude. As for me, I—I am called Diane. I am the niece of Cujus the furrier, a citizen of Tours, who is as a father to me. I was going to rejoin him from Saumur when all this happened."

"Have you any friends near, where I can leave you?"

"Oh yes! Near Richelieu I have friends; and, once in the house of the
Bailiff of Muisson, I would be safe."

"I will see you there, with your permission."

"Thank you! And I want to tell you how this happened. I was going back home from Saumur, under the charge of Olivet, and we halted at MarÇay to rest. About a half-hour after leaving MarÇay we were set upon and taken prisoners by the men from whom you have saved me.

"Where they were taking us I cannot tell. As evening came I heard your voice singing, and, screaming for help, I slipped from my saddle, with the intention of running towards you. Olivet made a brave effort to help me—but——" And it was only with an effort that she prevented another breakdown.

"Have you any idea who these men are?"

She remained silent, as if collecting her thoughts. And I went on:

"I ask because I recognised one—the leader."

"Ah, monsieur, I feared to mention his name. He is a great noble, and he—he—but I cannot tell you." And she stopped, with a little shiver.

"You need not, madame. He is Simon, Vidame d'Orrain."

"Yes," she said, and our talk stopped. My cheeks were burning at the thought of Simon's deed of shame, and I put this down to the long score I had against him. And so on we rode, until we passed the skirts of the forest, though still keeping to its edge, and came to a stretch of moorland, beyond which was a series of small hills. We could now hear water running like a mill-race, and from the hills there glinted the lights of a large village.

"That is Richelieu, monsieur," exclaimed mademoiselle, "and the water that we hear is the Mable."

"See there, monsieur!" Pierrebon suddenly cut in, as he arrested mademoiselle's horse, and pointed to his right, where on the edge of the forest we saw lights at the windows of a low-lying, irregular building half concealed amidst trees. "See there!" continued Pierrebon; "that is a house where at least we shall be able to sup and get a guide."

"A guide," I exclaimed, "with Richelieu before us!"

"Listen to the Mable," urged Pierrebon; "is there a bridge? If not we must ford it; and they say the river is deep and dangerous; but perhaps mademoiselle knows the ford?"

"Indeed I do not."

Considering all things, I came to the conclusion that Pierrebon was right, and that it would be wiser to seek the house. As we approached it, mademoiselle said:

"It may be the hunting-lodge of Le Jaquemart, belonging to the Sieur de
Richelieu."

"Well, we will know soon," I said, and urged Pierrebon to quicken his pace. There was but a bare quarter mile of moorland, covered with yellow broom and purple thistle, to be passed, and then we came up to the house. As we did so we perceived that it was surrounded by a high stone wall, and mademoiselle exclaimed positively:

"It is Le Jaquemart; but it is strange it is occupied, for the Sieur de
Richelieu is in Italy."

"Bien," I thought to myself, "the furrier's niece knows all about the Sieurs de Richelieu!" And then aloud: "Perhaps he has returned with Montluc, mademoiselle; or it may be that friends of his hunt the forest."

"M. de Parthenay is near Loudon."

I made no answer, for at this moment we reined up before the gate, and glanced at the massive, studded portal, and the old wall, with its soft crowning of ivy on the top, and grey-green, moss-covered sides, where the yellow wall-pepper and white serpyllum pushed between the crevices of the stonework. And as we looked we heard from within a peal of loud laughter, a woman's voice mingling with the deeper tones of that of a man. As the laughter ceased Pierrebon exclaimed:

"They are gay within, monsieur!" And then, on a sign from me, he knocked long and loudly.

"Enough, enough! You would waken the dead."

"One more, monsieur!" And Pierrebon, who already smelt his supper, brought the brass lion's head of the knocker with such force against the studded door that it might have been heard a quarter mile away.

From within came a shrill whistle, and a voice called out, with a foreign accent: "The gate, Piero! Who is it? Someone knocks."

"And will knock again soon if you do not make haste," grumbled Pierrebon; whilst I pricked up my ears, and glanced at mademoiselle, and saw her drooping in her saddle. Now we heard a heavy, lurching step on the other side of the gate, a sliding panel covering a Judas Hole was drawn back, a man's face appeared dimly, and a voice asked in halting French:

"Who are you? What do you want?"

"Supper and a guide," began Pierrebon; but dismounting I put him aside, and said:

"We are three travellers, one of whom is a lady. We have lost our way, and seek but a guide to the ford."

As I spoke the man on the other side of the gate raised a dark lantern he had hitherto held low in his hand, and flashed it through the opening, whilst he peered at us.

"Only three?" he asked.

"And one a lady," I answered; whilst Pierrebon let his tongue wag: "Oh, the mole! To want a lantern in this moonlight!" And following his words came the voice from the house, asking again in Italian:

"What is the matter, Piero?"

To which Piero answered: "I come, signor," and with a brief "Wait!" to us, swung round on his heel and went back, Pierrebon, as he looked at the retreating figure through the grille, saying, "By St. Hugo! monsieur, we might be a party of the Guidon's Free Riders, or Captain Loup and his gang!" But, paying no heed to his words, I turned to mademoiselle.

"I like not this place. We had better take our chance of finding the ford. Come!"

At this Pierrebon, with the freedom of an old servant, began to protest, and mademoiselle aided him.

"Oh, monsieur, could we not rest here for a little?"

"We may rest here for ever if we do," I said a little sharply. "Come!"

My words had, perhaps, too much of command in their tone, for she answered back coldly: "I intend to rest here, monsieur; you may go on if you like."

At this I said nothing more, and let her have her way, but gave Pierrebon a warning grip of the arm to be careful. Pierrebon nodded in comprehension. He was no fool, though many thought him so, and though if his betters drew steel he as a rule let matters lie with them, yet he could be dangerous—a thing which people found out sometimes when it was a trifle late.

We had to wait a space, then we heard the woman's voice laughing once more within. Something in its hard, clear tones jarred upon me, and I glanced at mademoiselle, but she kept her face aside. But now we heard returning footsteps, the grating of a bolt drawn back, the turning of a key, and then the gate opened; whilst Piero, a huge figure, stood before us, swinging his lantern, and beside him another man, armed with an arquebus, the fuse burning like a glow-worm.

"Enter," said Piero; "the signor will receive you."

"Facilis est descensus Averni," I murmured to myself, and led the way, and the gate was shut behind us. Before us lay a short drive bordered with tall poplars, and on either hand a tangle of a garden that had run to a wilderness. As we rode up a woman's figure appeared at an open window, but stepped back at once, and I asked Piero, in his own Italian:

"Has Monsieur de Richelieu returned?"

The giant answered gruffly: "I know not, signor. He who is within is the Captain Torquato Trotto."

"Torquato Trotto! I know not the name."

And Piero made no answer, for we had now come to the door of the house. Here I helped mademoiselle to alight, whilst Pierrebon took charge of the horses, and mademoiselle and I entered the house. At the same time a man came running down the stairs to meet us. As his eyes fell on us a slight exclamation of surprise broke from him; but he checked it on the instant, and advanced, saying in French:

"You are very welcome, madame and monsieur, I do assure you—very welcome."

And he bowed before us, courteously enough; but I caught the veiled mockery in his voice, and as I took the speaker in I thought he was bravo to his finger-tips.

"Monsieur," I said, "I thank you. We but crave permission to rest a while, and seek a guide to the ford of the Mable, for we have to be at Richelieu to-night."

"We will do what we can for you, monsieur. Be pleased to ascend. I will be with you in a moment. I have but a word to say to my man here. Excuse me!"