So the rubber between De Ganache and myself had begun, and although I had been the means of saving his life this morning I was determined to put it to the last issue rather than see myself defeated in this matter by him.

Mademoiselle would at any rate find that if I were a gaoler I was one who looked well after his charge. So I gave instructions to Pierrebon to take my place in the room, and on no account to stir forth unless I called him. I further added that if anyone came to the door he should pretend to be sleeping heavily. With this I took my drawn sword in my hand and stepped softly into the passage. On reaching the room where we had supped I found it apparently deserted, the only light being from a lantern which burnt dimly on the dining-table. The shadow of the stairway leading above fell athwart the room, and as I looked cautiously around the clock in the hall beyond struck eleven. I waited patiently for any sign of movement or life; but there was none. Satisfied at last that I was alone I stepped forward, and made my way quickly but noiselessly to the stair. Beneath this there was room enough to stand, and hidden by the darkness, the overhanging stair, and the angle of the wall I was perfectly concealed. Here I determined to watch, through the night if need be. The discovery that this stairway was the only passage from above strengthened my position greatly, for unless mademoiselle were possessed of wings, and it had not come to that as yet, she would have to pass this way, and then I hoped to be able to persuade her how rash and useless her attempt was.

The minutes dragged on like hours, as they always do in affairs of this nature. I chafed at the restraint of my position, and had no intention of acting the eavesdropper longer than I could help it, but for the moment I was forced to lie in ambush. All was quiet and still, so still that some mice came out, and sought for such crumbs as they could find on the floor around the dining-table. Suddenly there came the sound of footsteps along the passage. In a flash the mice had vanished, and two men entered the room. They were the landlord and De Ganache, the latter booted and spurred and wearing the hat that was lent to him, or rather given to him, this morning. He sat down on a chair at the dining-table, and placed his hat beside him, running his fingers through the red plumes.

"Eh bien," he said, with a laugh, "Monsieur there sleeps soundly. It will be a great awakening in the morning. I should not advise you to be here, Pechaud." And with this he turned up the lantern, so that the light fell more strongly on his clear-cut face and blue eyes. He was a handsome man, and one well formed to win a woman's heart; but with all this there were the marks of a weak and irresolute nature on his countenance, and as I looked I thought to myself that here was one who, if he fell, would fall utterly.

Pechaud the landlord, who stood respectfully near De Ganache, laughed too as he heard the Vicomte's words.

"I shall be careful, monsieur," he said. "My only fear is that they will find it so difficult to follow that they may stay here indefinitely."

"The trooper is a knave for all that, and deserves to hang; but it was well conceived—the cutting of the saddlery." And then they both laughed again. I had a mind to join in their humour, and it was hard to refrain from chuckling a little on my own account.

"'Tis a pity you could not get mademoiselle's horse."

"It was impossible, monsieur; but you will find mine carry her as well, and it is even now ready.

"Well; it does not much matter." And rising De Ganache opened the window and looked forth.

"It is a night of stars," he said, "and dark. Lord! if we but had a moon!"

"Monsieur will find the guide lead you well."

"I want no guide on my own lands, Pechaud. Night and day are one to me when I ride across them. But this guide: who is he?"

"I myself, monsieur."

"You! And yet, perhaps, 'tis as well; but I fear me, old friend, that the sky will be red behind us with the flames of this good inn; they will not forego that revenge."

"Let it be so, monsieur. My ancestors have followed yours for two centuries, and taken the good with the bad—and I am as they are; you know this."

De Ganache looked at him, and as I heard this faithful retainer's words
I began to understand the force that my opponent had on his side.
After a moment's pause Pechaud continued:

"But, monsieur, a word from an old man. How long is this to last? Why are you not at the King's side, as your forefathers ever were? Make your peace with the Court, as Monsieur d'Andelot and the Admiral have done——"

"Enough, Pechaud! Perhaps I will take your advice, and that soon; but for the present I must pull my sword-belt in by a hole, and see that my saddlery at any rate is right. As for this Monsieur Broussel, he told mademoiselle that he knew me, but I have never set eyes on him that I know. What manner of man is he?"

"Monsieur, we have just heard him as he slept."

De Ganache shrugged his shoulders and glanced up at the clock.

"It is time," he said. "Warn mademoiselle."

Pechaud turned; but even as he did so there was a light step on the stairs, and mademoiselle came down dressed for travelling, and holding her riding-whip in her hand. As she passed she glanced swiftly in my direction, and for the moment I thought I was discovered; but the shadow was impenetrable, and she went on. De Ganache rose to receive her, holding out his hand. I noticed that she barely touched it, as she asked quickly:

"Is all ready?"

"Everything, Diane." And I winced at the familiar address.

"De Ganache," she said, "I had your word for it that no harm should befall Monsieur Broussel. He risked his life for me, and I owe it to him that I stand here alive; what have you done with him?"

De Ganache smiled. "Even if he had not acted as he has, if he were my bitter foe, your word would have been law to me. Monsieur Broussel is alive and well. If we had time I would take you down the passage and show him to you—sleeping the sleep of the just."

"Forgive me! I know not what it is. I am haunted by all sorts of fears——"

"Then fear no more," he said gently, trying to take her hand, but she withdrew it from him. And then he dropped his arm, and went on: "By to-morrow evening you will be with friends, and, perhaps, you will learn by then that there are others ready and willing to die for you if need be."

"Gaston!" she said; and now it was she held out her hand, and he bent respectfully over it as he touched it with his lips.

To tell truth, I was suffering more torture than if I had been run through, for in Diane's last word I felt all my hopes vanish, I was taken off my cross, however, by the necessity for action, for Pechaud, who had discreetly retired at mademoiselle's entrance, now returned, and announced that the horses were ready.

"Come!" said De Ganache, and as he said so I stepped out and faced them. It was a bolt from the blue. Mademoiselle shrank back with a little startled cry. Pechaud stood as one petrified, his jaws agape, and his old hands trembling, whilst De Ganache put himself between me and mademoiselle, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Stand back!" he said hotly. "Back!"

And as hot an answer trembled on my tongue, but I held myself in.

"Monsieur, you do not seem to know me. Shall I remind you of this morning?"

At my words it was he who went back; his hand left his sword-hilt, and he stood staring at me.

"You!" he stammered. "I did not recognise—I—I did not know——"

"Enough, monsieur! I forgive you the ill turn you were about to play me. Perhaps, were I in your case, I would do the same——"

"If so, then my course is clear. In any other thing I would yield to you, but not in this."

"Listen. Your plan was well laid; but my men are not traitors, and I—I have not slept. Monsieur de Ganache, I have but to raise my voice, and there will be three to one against you——"

"I care not," he answered furiously, and his sword flashed in his hand, but in a moment Diane was between us.

"De Ganache! Monsieur Broussel! Put back your swords, I implore you!"

And with this she clung to De Ganache's arm. He paled to the lips as he tried to free himself.

"Diane, 'tis our only way! Keep back, Diane!"

But for answer she clung all the more to him, and it seemed as if she were covering him from my sword, as she cried out again: "No, no! It is too terrible! I will not have it! It must not be!"

I looked from one to another, a hundred emotions tearing at my heart. I had seen enough to understand how these two stood to one another, and, utterly miserable at heart, I gave way. A sudden impulse, that carried me as like a wave, seized me, and I burst out:

"Monsieur de Ganache, let it be for Mademoiselle de Paradis to decide between us. I give you my word I will abide by her choice."

Diane let her hand fall from De Ganache's arm and turned to me in astonishment. And De Ganache stared at me with wide-open eyes, and asked slowly, dropping his words out:

"You say this?—you pledge your word?"

"I have said so. I undertook to take mademoiselle to Paris, and to see her in safety there, at the cost of my life if need be. I have since learned that which makes it impossible for me to do this unless mademoiselle comes with me of her own free will. I leave her to make her choice."

"Then, Diane, come!" And De Ganache turned towards her, a hand outstretched. I stepped aside to leave the way free, but to my surprise mademoiselle made no answer, but stood in wavering hesitation, now looking at one and then at the other of us. Once more De Ganache began to urge her, stepping quite close up and speaking in low but quick and earnest tones.

"Diane, the very stars are with us! What is there that makes you hesitate? By to-morrow evening we will be with our own people, and henceforth I will always be by your side to defend you."

She stopped him with an impatient gesture of her hand. Even where she stood in the half light I saw the red rush to her cheeks at his last words; and then she asked:

"Monsieur Broussel, I too have been learning, or rather guessing, at some things since I came down here. Is it you that Monsieur le Vicomte has to thank for his life?"

I did not answer; but De Ganache began to speak as one defending himself:

"I do thank him; but when I told you of this I did not know Monsieur
Broussel's name, Diane."

"All this does not concern the matter," I cut in. "What mademoiselle has to decide is whether she will go on to Paris or not. Which shall it be?" And I faced her.

A little silence, and her eyes refused to meet mine. Then she said faintly: "I—I do not know."

All depended on a single turn, but it was De Ganache himself who threw his cards away. Stepping up to mademoiselle he put his arm through hers, and with an air of command, almost proprietorship, he said:

"Come, Diane, we waste time here, and we have far to go. I shall give
Monsieur Broussel his thanks another day."

She looked up at him—such a look!—and withdrew her arm.

"Monsieur de Ganache," she said, "you take too much on yourself. I have decided, and I shall go to Paris."

De Ganache looked at her and laughed bitterly. Then he broke forth into weak reviling at womankind. She let him run on, and at last he asked:

"And after all I have done and risked this—this is your answer?"

"My answer—to everything, monsieur." And with this she turned from him, and passing me went up the stair, back to her apartments.

I was standing a little apart, leaning on my sword, hardly able to believe my ears, and wondering at the ways of womankind. De Ganache had taken up his hat, and was nervously tearing at the plume, his lips moving with unspoken words. All at once he turned to me, and his voice was hoarse with passion:

"Monsieur, you have won. I set this against this morning. And we are quits. Quits, you understand?"

I bowed, but made no answer. The man was beside himself, and the slightest word would have led to his drawing on me, and for mademoiselle's sake I held myself in.

"Pechaud!" he went on, "my horse."

And crushing his hat on his head he passed me without another word and went to the door. Pechaud followed him, and began to urge something, but was silenced with a rough word. Then he called for a light. Pechaud came running back for the lantern, and through the open door, as the light flickered on him, I saw De Ganache mount. Once he glanced back at me. He could see nothing, for I was in darkness, but the light which fell on his features showed him pale as ashes. The horse backed a little. He drove his spurs in with an oath, and then I heard him hammering through the night, going—God knows whither. Beat—beat—beat—the iron-shod hoofs rushed through the village, and the dogs awoke, and barked, barked and howled, long after he had passed on his reckless course.

I waited a little, and then called to Pechaud. He came back slowly, and set his lantern with a trembling hand on the table. For the rest of the night we were in safety—that I knew.

"It grows late, MaÎtre Pechaud," I said, "and I need rest." And so I left him.