Leaving us to find our way upstairs Torquato Trotto went out into the porch where Piero the giant stood, cast a glance at the retreating figure of Pierrebon, who was leading the horses away, looked over his shoulder like a cat, and, gripping Piero by the arm, shook with laughter.

"Maledetto!" exclaimed Piero, who was of an evil temper, as he freed himself from Trotto's clutches, and looked at the swaying figure before him. "Loose hold, signor! Have you been bitten by a tarantula?"

"Oh! I could sing, I could shout, I could dance. Man! that is the very girl we want; and Monsieur the Vidame, who lies within, twisting in his chair, will pay a thousand fat, gold Henris for her when he knows. Ho! it will be rare news for him!"

"Are you sure?"

"As I live. Did I not watch her for a whole week at Saumur? 'Tis well we have not Aramon and the rest with us. The fewer there are the larger the shares. Can Malsain deal with the lackey?"

Piero grinned for reply.

"Well! let him be his care, and you had better stay at hand here. Give me the key of the gate, and, remember, a hundred crowns apiece to you and Malsain for this. And now for a word in the Vidame's ear."

With this he turned back into the house, leaving Piero looking after him.

"A hun—dred crowns apiece! Diavolo! Captain Torquato! If I knew the money was here I would make the whole thousand mine; and then—hey for Rome again! But a hundred crowns are a hundred crowns, and fill a purse rarely. Well, I go to warn Malsain!"

And the giant went slowly off, regretting in his heart what might have been.

In the meantime we found ourselves on a landing before an open door, disclosing a room brightly lit. There was a glimpse too of a table laid for supper, and near the table stood a tall woman, with black hair that hung to her waist, with bare rounded arms and painted cheeks, and a face that was beautiful still, though she had come to be what she was.

She was holding a cup of red wine in her hand, but stopped in the act of lifting it to her lips as she caught sight of us, and setting down the wine untasted advanced, saying:

"Enter, I pray you. La Marmotte bids you welcome."

"I thank you, madame," I replied bowing, with many misgivings in my heart, and inwardly cursing the folly that had made me yield and enter this house. But who is there who does not make mistakes?—and I for one have never set claim to be infallible. I was wrong, and I admit it—that is enough.

And so we went in, and for the first time there was light enough to see mademoiselle's face, and as I looked there came to me a sting of regret for the days that would never return. It was as if some devil had flashed before me a mirror in which the past was reflected; and, believe me, when one has lived and regretted it is not necessary to be in love for such a lightning flash of bitter memory to come to a man when he sees beside him the purity of innocence.

And so it was too with La Marmotte, who had turned to us with a light laugh, and lighter words to her lips; but laugh and words died away as she met the girl's look, and—I could read her like an open page—awakened memory took the woman back to the time when she herself was as the girl before her. And so, because there were yet undefiled wells of good in her soul, there came upon her an unwonted timidity, and it was with a respectful hesitation that she pressed upon us seats and refreshment. But even as she did so her eyes met mine with a half-imploring, half-defiant glance. She felt that I knew, though I thanked her for her courtesy as if she were a princess of the land.

Mademoiselle sank weariedly into a chair; whilst La Marmotte, with all the silent notes in her heart touched in some undefinable way, hovered over her, fearing to approach her, and yet feeling as if she must.

For me, I remained standing, softly rubbing my wounded arm, over which I had drawn my cloak, and looking around me here, there, and everywhere, for I knew we were in a trap, and trapped by my own folly. As I looked I saw something white showing beneath the cushions of a settle, and taking the cup of wine that La Marmotte handed to me I moved thereto, and, sitting down, looked more closely. It was a white mask. Softly drawing it forth, and, unobserved, slipping it into the pocket of my cloak, I saw in doing so that it was stained with fresh blood, and then I knew we were in the house of death.

At this moment Torquato Trotto appeared at the door with suave apologies, and stepping forward, rubbing his hands together, he said: "I regret to have appeared so discourteous; I trust that monsieur and madame will remain here for to-night."

"I am afraid, Signer Torquato Trotto, that is impossible."

"Per Bacco! You know me!" exclaimed the Italian in slight surprise.

"The name of Torquato Trotto is known in France," I said, and the brow of the man darkened.

"Perhaps I too can return the compliment, monsieur. You are——"

"Bertrand Broussel, bourgeois, of the Rue des LavandiÈres, Paris," I interrupted, and I caught a strange expression of disappointment in mademoiselle's eyes. "Hum!" I thought, "does the furrier's niece take me for a prince of the blood in disguise?"

La Marmotte, however, cut in at this juncture, for she saw the storm in the air, and I again said that we would go on at once, if Messire Trotto would of his kindness provide us with a guide; if not, we would go without one.

And Trotto answered blandly:

"Impossible! My lieutenant is away with my men, and I have no one here who knows the way. I am totally ignorant myself, or I would willingly help you. Besides, to go now would be madness. The road is infested by robbers—faith of a gentleman!"

"That is indeed true! I have just escaped them—thanks to the bravery of this gentleman here," exclaimed mademoiselle.

"Madame, you are lucky to have escaped; but you must tell us of your adventures as we sup," and he moved towards the table.

In the meantime Pierrebon, looking well to the right and left, led the horses towards the stables. Every shadow in the winding walk, every recess in the over-grown privet, hid a secret enemy to him. He avoided passing near the ruined summer-house for fear of the ambush that might be within, and then, finding the hedges close in upon the road, boldly took his beasts along the neglected parterres until at last he reached the stables. Here, near the open door he saw Malsain, tall and thin, but muscular and strong as whipcord, sitting down by the light of a guttering candle to a meagre repast of bread and cheese, washed down with water—for Malsain never touched wine.

"An evil-looking man," Pierrebon thought, as he glanced at Malsain sitting on a stool; and evil-looking indeed he was, with his hawk's face, thin cruel slit of a mouth, and one wicked eye that glowed with the same sombre fire as the fuse of his arquebus, which leaned against the wall behind him. And then from the man himself Pierrebon glanced at the hermit's fare before him. "St. Siege!" he groaned, "bread and cheese and cold water—with a dagger-thrust to follow for digestion, perhaps."

But now Malsain heard him, his hand went out silently to the arquebus, and he turned a yellow, threatening face towards the visitor.

"Hola!" exclaimed Pierrebon. "It is I. I have brought monsieur's horses for a feed and a rest."

"Ho! it is you." And Malsain, putting down his arquebus, returned to his cheese again as he added: "There are two stalls vacant there, and you will find oats in that barrel." He had not, of course, it will be understood, received Trotto's message as yet.

Pierrebon entered without further ceremony. There were already three horses in the stables; but, as Malsain had said, there were still two stalls vacant, and here he put the nags. Whilst attending to them, however, he kept glancing uneasily at the supper before Malsain, which was diminishing at a frightful rate, for the thin man ate like a cormorant. At last, unable to endure this more, he stopped rubbing down the brown hackney, and, stepping up to the table, took a seat on a stool opposite Malsain. Then, drawing his dagger, he helped himself without further ceremony to some cheese and bread, and glanced somewhat ruefully into the jug of water.

"Diable!" grumbled Malsain, "you are eating my supper."

"Well," and Pierrebon looked at him, "am I not your guest, as my master is your master's?"

Malsain said nothing, but scowled across the table at Pierrebon; and the latter, who was as alert as a weasel when it came to the push, went on: "But, compÈre, they feed you thinly here—and no wine!"

"I eat to my taste, and drink to my taste," growled Malsain; but
Pierrebon, not heeding his ill temper, continued:

"Now, with my master there is always a bottle of Rochecorbon, and a cut from a pasty, not to mention a crown-piece here and a crown-piece there; and I wager that in the house yonder there is something more than acid cheese and dry bread for hunger, or spring water for thirst."

"Be silent, fool! Take what you can get, or leave it," said Malsain sullenly, his hand slipping down to his side; but Pierrebon laughed cheerily as he cut another slice of cheese, his two blue Burgundian eyes steadily fixed on Malsain's sallow face, and as they looked at each other there came a heavy footfall outside, and Piero called out in his deep voice:

"Malsain! Here! A word with you!"

Malsain rose slowly, and went outside, and Pierrebon, following him with his glance, saw Piero's huge figure in the moonlight, and a chill came upon him.

"By St. Hugo! 'tis the ogre himself! And they consult together!" he murmured, wishing himself a hundred miles away, and he watched the twain moving off into the shadow, straining his ears to catch a word if possible, but at first he could hear nothing. Thus a minute or so passed, whilst the evil pair outside stood in the shadow of a copper beech whispering together. If Pierrebon could but hear a word to guide him! He dared not attempt to approach them, but was forced to stay where he was. At last he caught something. Malsain laughed out like a hyena: "I would slit their throats for fifty, and throw the Vidame into that——" But Piero roughly bade him lower his voice, and the whispering continued.

Pierrebon heard no more. That there was danger in the air he knew. He had not forgotten my warning pressure on his arm as we entered the gates of Le Jaquemart, and now his worst fears were confirmed. For a moment his heart sank, but for a moment only, for as he looked around him his eyes fell on the arquebus, where it leaned against the wall. The fuse was still alight. There was no time to hesitate. Malsain was already returning; and if it were to be war Pierrebon thought he might as well begin, and strike the first blow. Quick as thought he arose, and taking up the arquebus moved off near the horses, and he was blowing on the match to hearten the fire when Malsain stepped in.

"Blood of a Jew! what are you doing with the arquebus, fool? Put it down this instant, or I slit your throat." And Malsain, his poniard in his hand, stood near the table, glaring savagely at Pierrebon.

"Pardon!" said Pierrebon. "I was but looking at it. 'Tis a noble weapon. And one well suited to a soldier's hand."

"It could kill too, I wager," said Pierrebon, laughing, as he raised the weapon, and pointed it at Malsain, who went back the step he had taken, saying, with an oath,

"It is loaded, fool! Put it down at once."

"Hein! it is loaded. It would kill, then, if I fired—eh?" And then, with a sudden change of voice and manner: "Ah, bandit! move a step, utter the slightest cry, and you are a dead man! Throw down your poniard!"

Malsain looked at the barrel of the arquebus. It was steady as a rock, and behind the little black muzzle the match burned bravely; whilst behind the match was a red face with two blue eyes that looked as if they meant what their owner said. Malsain let his dagger drop with a clash.

Pierrebon then advanced a couple of paces nearer, still holding the arquebus at Malsain's breast.

"Now, my friend! Take that bridle from the peg at your hand and fasten your ankles together. What!—you hesitate?"

Malsain hissed something between his teeth, and snatched the bridle from the peg.

"Go on! A running knot—lap it well round, and finish off! There!
That is right! You are no novice, I see, mon vieux!"

Malsain made no answer, but stood bolt upright before Pierrebon, his face grey, his one eye bloodshot, his lips livid. It is true that he had tied himself as loosely as possible, but still he was terribly crippled; and from his soul he regretted that he had not made a rush at Pierrebon, and chanced his fortune; but now this was hopeless.

Worse, however, was to come, and it came at once.

"Now," said Pierrebon, "fasten your wrist to your ankle—your left wrist."

"It is impossible," said Malsain thickly.

"Then I shall blow your brains out when I have counted three. One!"

Malsain looked about him with his red eye, and shuffled uneasily.

"Two!"

Malsain swore again, a nameless oath.

"Th——"

Malsain stooped down with the rapidity of lightning, and began fumbling with the yard or so of trailing rein.

He tried to deceive Pierrebon; but the candle gave enough light to see, and Pierrebon was sharp. There was no help for it, and at last it was done, badly done, but enough to utterly cripple Malsain. The final order now came:

"Now lie down on your face."

This was difficult; but there are circumstances under which men do all but impossible things, and Malsain performed the feat.

After this the worthy Pierrebon took a more active part in the binding of Malsain. Still holding the arquebus in one hand he unhitched another bridle from its peg. Then, placing the arquebus at his feet, he drew his dagger and approached Malsain, upon whom he sat, and with a gentle prick or so reminded him it was unsafe to struggle or cry. He fastened up his free arm, and finished off the work in an artistic manner. When it was over Malsain was like a trussed fowl. Pierrebon stepped back, and surveyed his work with the satisfaction of one who knows that he has done well.

"Ah, I had forgotten!" he exclaimed. Then he pulled from his pocket a 'kerchief. A touch at Malsain's throat with his poniard was hint enough. Malsain opened his mouth, and the handkerchief, rolled into a ball, was thrust inside.

Pierrebon fumbled once more in his pocket, and produced some stout twine. He gave a little grunt of satisfaction as he lashed it around Malsain's jaws, and felt at last that victory was his.

"It is complete—eh, mon vieux?"

And so saying he dragged Malsain with no tender hand across the pavement of the stable. There was a black, vicious-looking cob in one of the stalls. Pierrebon flung his victim on the straw near the beast. "I should lie still," he said in warning; "the horse might kick."

Then he saddled up again, calmly selecting a third horse from the stable, from a stall where he saw some ladies' saddlery.

"This will do for mademoiselle," he muttered as he glanced around him with satisfaction; "all is ready here. And now for the ogre." Taking up the arquebus he looked at the priming, and made his way cautiously to the house.