"Very well," I said. "If my horse only holds out, I will lead you all the way to Gascony."

Once I let my horse eat and rest; twice I let him drink.

At nightfall, the sound of the hoofs behind me gradually died away. My own beast was foaming and panting, so I reined in to a walk. Near Loudun, I passed an inn whose look of comfort, I thought, would surely tempt my tired pursuers to tarry, if, indeed, they should come so far. Some hours later, coming to another and smaller inn, and hearing no sound of pursuit behind me, I decided to stop for a few hours, or until the tramp of horses' feet should disturb the silence of the night.

The inn kitchen, as I entered, was noisy with shouts and curses. One might have expected to find a whole company of soldiers there, but to my surprise, I saw only one man. This was a robust young fellow, with a big round face, piercing gray eyes, fiercely up-sprouting red mustache, and a double—pointed reddish beard. There was something irresistibly pugnacious, and yet good-natured, in the florid face of this person. He sat on a bench beside a table, forcibly detaining an inn maid with his left arm, and holding a mug of wine in his right hand. Beside him, on the bench, lay a sword, and in his belt was a pistol. He wore a brown cloth doublet, brown breeches, and green hose.

"A thousand devils!" he roared, as I entered. "Must a fighting man stand and beg for a kiss from a tavern wench? I don't believe in any of your painted saints, wooden or ivory, but I swear by all of them, good-looking girls are made to be hugged, and I was made to hug them! Here, you ten times damned dog of a landlord, bring me another bottle of your filthy wine, or I'll make a hole in your barrel of a body! Be quick, or I'll roast you on your own spit, and burn down your stinking old inn!" At this moment he saw me, as I stood in the doorway. "Come, monsieur!" he cried, "I'm not fastidious, curse me, and you might drink with me if you were the poxy old Pope himself! Here, wench, go and welcome the gentleman with a kiss!" And he shoved the girl towards me and began to pound, in sheer drunken turbulence, on the table with his mug.

I left the kitchen to this noisy guest, and took a room up-stairs, where the landlord presently brought me light and supper.

I paid in advance for my night's lodging, and arranged to have access, at any time during the night, to the shed in which was my horse, so that at the least alarm I might make hasty flight. I opened my window, that the sound of horses on the road might be audible to me from a distance. Then, having eaten, I put out my light and lay down, in my clothes, ready on occasion to rise and drop from the window, take horse, and be off.

From the kitchen, below, came frequent sounds emitted or caused by the tipsy young Hercules in the brown doublet. Now he bellowed for wine, now he thundered forth profanity, now he filled the place with the noise of Gargantuan laughter; now he sang at the top or the depth of his big, full voice; then could be heard the crash of furniture in collision. These sounds continued until far into the night.

I had intended not to sleep, but to lie with ears alert. I could not yet bring myself to feel that I was safe from pursuit. So used had I become to a condition of flight, that I could not throw off the feeling of being still pursued. And yet, I had hoped that Barbemouche would tire of the chase. My plan had not been to confuse him as to my track, by taking by-roads or skirting the towns, but merely to outrun him. Because I wished to reach Nerac at the earliest possible moment, and because the country was new to me and I desired not to lose my way, I had held to the main road southward, being guided in direction by the sun or the stars. Moreover, had I made detours, or skirted cities, Barbemouche might have gone ahead by the main road and lain in wait further south for my coming up, for Frolichard, the peasant, had heard me tell the woodman my destination. So, in that first day's flight, I had trusted to the speed of my horse, and now there was some reason to believe that Barbemouche had abandoned pursuit, as the soldiers had done who chased me from Paris. And yet, it seemed to me that this ugly Barbemouche was not one to give up his chosen prey so soon.

Despite my intention, I feel asleep, and when I awoke it was daylight. I sprang up and went cautiously down-stairs, sword in hand. But there was no danger. Only the host and a servant were stirring in the inn. I made a rapid breakfast, and went to see my horse fed. Before the shed, I saw the young man who had made such drunken tumult in the kitchen the previous night. He was just about to mount his horse; but there was now nothing of the roysterer about his look or manner. He had restored neatness to his attire, and his expression was sedate and humble, though strength and sturdiness were as apparent in him as ever.

"A fine morning," I said, as the inn-servant brought out my own horse.

"Yes, monsieur," said the young man, in a very respectful tone. "A sunrise like this is a gift from the good God."

"Yet you look pensive."

"It is because I know how little I deserve such mercy as to live on such a day," answered the man, gravely; and he bowed politely, and rode southward.

This devoutness and humility impressed me as being strangely out of harmony with the profanity and turbulence of the night before, yet the one seemed no less genuine than the other.

My horse fed, I mounted and rode after the sturdy youth.

Not far from Mirebeau, happening to turn my head towards the north, I saw, in the distance, a group of horsemen approaching at a steady gallop. From having looked back at this group many times during the preceding day, I had stamped certain of its figures on my memory, and I now recognized it as Barbemouche and his party.

"Another day of it," I said, to myself, and spurred my horse to a gallop.

An increase in their own pace told me that they in turn had recognized me.

"This grows monotonous," I mused. "If there were only fewer of them, or more of me, I would make a stand."

Presently I came up with the young man in the brown doublet. He stared at me with a look of inquiry as I passed at such speed; then he looked back and saw the distant horsemen coming on at equal speed. He appeared to realize the situation at a glance. Without a word, he gave his own horse a touch of the spur, with the manifest intention of keeping my company in my flight.

"You have a good horse," I said to him, at the same time watching him out of the corner of my eye, seeking some indication that might show whether, on occasion, he would stand as my friend or my enemy.

"Better than yours, I fear, monsieur," he replied.

"Mine has been hard run," I said, lightly.

Presently he looked back, and said:

"Ah, the devil! Your friends, back there, are sending out an advance guard. Three of them are making a race of it, to see which shall have the honor of first joining you."

I looked back. It was true; three of them were bearing down with great speed, evidently on fresh horses. Barbemouche remained back with the rest.

I urged on my horse.

"It is useless, monsieur," said the young man at my side. "Your beast is no match for theirs. Besides, you will not find a better place to make a stand than the bridge yonder." And he pointed ahead to a bridge that crossed a narrow stream that lay between high banks.

"What, face ten men?" I said.

"There are only three. The thing may be over before the others come up."

I laughed. "Well, admitting that, three against one—" I began.

"Oh, there will be two of us," replied the other.

My heart gave a joyous bound, but I said, "I cannot expect you to risk your life in my quarrel."

And he answered, "By God! I myself have a quarrel with every man that wears on his hat the white cross of the Guises!" His grey eyes flashed, his face became red with wrath. "Let us stop, monsieur."

We stopped and turned our horses on the narrow bridge. We both drew sword and waited. My new-found ally threw back his hat, and I saw across his forehead a deep red scar, which I had not before noticed.

The three men rode up to the attack. They all stopped suddenly before they reached the bridge.

"Give up your sword and come with us, monsieur," cried one of them to me.

I said nothing. "Go to hell!" roared my companion. And with that he charged with the fury of a wild beast, riding between two of the horsemen, and thrusting his sword through the eye and into the brain of one before either could make the least show of defence. His horse coming to a quick stop, he drew his weapon out of the slain man's head and turned on the other. While there was some violent fencing between the two, and while the dead man's horse reared, and so rid itself of its bleeding burden, the third horseman urged his horse towards me. I turned the point of his rapier, whereupon he immediately backed, and then came for me again just as I charged on him. Each was too quick to meet the other's steel with steel. His sword passed under my right arm and my sword under his right arm, and we found ourselves linked together, arm to arm. I saw him reach with his left hand for his dagger, and I grew sick at the thought that I had no similar weapon with which to make matters even. He plucked the dagger from his belt, and raised it to plunge it into my back; but his wrist was caught in a clutch of iron. My man in the brown doublet, in backing his horse to make another charge on his still remaining opponent, had seen my antagonist's motion, and now, with a twist of his vigorous fingers, caused the dagger to fall from a limp arm. Then my comrade returned to meet his own enemy, and I was again on equal terms with mine. We broke away from each other. I was the quicker to right myself, and a moment later he fell sidewise from his horse, pierced through the right lung.

I backed my horse to the middle of the bridge, and was joined by my stalwart friend, who had done for his second man with a dagger thrust in the side.

"Whew!" he panted, holding his dripping weapons on either side of him, so as not to get any more blood on his clothes. Then a grin of satisfaction appeared on his perspiring face, and he said:

"Three Guisards less to shout 'Vive la messe.' It's a pity we haven't time to exchange horses with these dead whelps of hell. But the others are coming up, and we ought to rest awhile."

We sheathed our weapons and spurred on our horses, again southward. Looking back, soon, we saw that the other pursuers, on coming up to their dead comrades, had chosen first to look after the belongings of the latter rather than to avenge their deaths. And while Barbemouche and his men, of whom there were now six, tarried over the dead bodies, we made such good speed that at last we were out of sight of them.

My first use of my returned breath was to thank my stalwart ally.

He received my gratitude with great modesty, said that the Lord had guided his arm in the fight, and expressed himself with a humility that was in complete contrast to the lion-like fury shown by him in the combat. Judging him, from his phrases, to be a Huguenot, I asked whether he was one, by birth, as I was.

"By birth, from my mother," he replied. "My father was a Catholic, and in order to win my mother, he pretended to have joined the reformers. That deceit was the least of his many rascally deeds. He was one of the chosen instruments of the devil,—a violent, roystering cut-throat, but a good soldier, as was shown in Italy and at St. Quentin, Calais, Jarnac, and elsewhere. My mother, though only the daughter of an armorer's workman, was, in goodness, an angel. I thank God that she sometimes has the upper hand in me, although too often it is my father that prevails in me." He sighed heavily, and looked remorseful.

In subsequent talk, as we rode, I learned that he was a soldier who had learned war, when a boy, under Coligny. He had fought at his father's side against Italians, Spanish, and English, and against his father in civil war. His father had died of a knife-wound, received, not in battle, but from a comrade in a quarrel about a woman, during the sacking of a town. His mother, when the news of the fate of her unworthy spouse reached the village where she lived, died of grief. The son was now returning from that village, which was near Orleans, and whither he had been on a visit to his relations, to Gascony, where he had been employed as a soldier in the small army with which Henri of Navarre made shift to garrison his towns.

I told him that I hoped to find a place in that little army.

"You do well, monsieur," said the young soldier, whose intelligence and native dignity made him, despite his peasant origin, one with whom a gentleman might converse. "Some day they will learn in France of what stuff the little Bearnaise King is made. I have stood watching him when he little supposed that a common soldier might take note of such things, and I have seen on his face the sign of great intentions. More goes on under that black hair than people guess at,—he can do more than drink and hunt and make love and jest and swear."

He was in no haste to reach Gascony, he said, and so he intended to visit a former comrade who dwelt in a village some leagues from my road. In the afternoon, coming to the by-road which led to this place, he left me, with the words:

"My name is Blaise Tripault, and should it happen that you ever enroll a company for the King of Navarre—"

"The first name on my list shall be Blaise Tripault," I replied, smiling, and rode on, alone.

Whenever I heard riders behind me, I looked back. At evening I reached an eminence which gave a good view of the country through which I had passed. Two groups of horsemen were visible. One of these consisted of seven men. The chief figure was a burly one which I could not mistake,— that of Barbemouche.

"Peste!" I muttered, frowning. "So they are following me into Poitou! Am I never to have any rest?"

I took similar precautions that night to those which I had taken the night before. The next day, about noon, emerging out of a valley, I saw my pursuers on the top of the hill at my rear. Plainly, they intended to follow me to the end of the earth. I hoped they would stop in Poitiers and get drunk, but they tarried there no more than I. And so it was, later, at Civray and at Angouleme.

Every day I got one or two glimpses of this persistent pack of hounds. Every night I used like measures to make sudden flight possible. One night the sound for which I kept my ears expectant reached them,—the sound of horses' hoofs on the hard road. I dropped from the open window of the inn at which I was, led out my horse from the shed, and made off, southward. The noise made by their own horses prevented my pursuers from hearing that made by mine. Presently the clatter abruptly ceased, whereupon I knew that they had stopped at the inn which I had left. My relief at this was offset by chagrin at a discovery made by me at the same moment: I had left my bag of golden crowns in the inn chamber. I dared not now go back for them. Well, Nerac could not be far away, now. I had traversed a good part of Guienne. The Dordogne was behind me.

I was glad that I had taken better care of the letter from Marguerite to her husband than I had taken of my crowns. Fortunately it had not left my doublet. I felt that my future depended on the delivery of that letter. There could be no doubt that Marguerite had recommended me in it with a favor that would obtain for me both protection and employment from the King of Navarre.

Daylight came, and with it hunger. I stopped at an inn, and was about to dismount, when I remembered that I had no money.

I could do without food for a time, but my horse could not. I told the landlord,—a short, heavy, square-faced, small-eyed man,—that I would, later, send him payment for a breakfast. He looked at me with a contempt that even a peasant dare show to a gentleman, when the gentleman has no money.

"Very well, then," I said. "I will leave you security."

He looked more respectful at this, and made a quick examination of me with his eyes.

"Unless you have some jewelry about you," he said, "your sword is the only thing that I would accept."

"You clod," I exclaimed, in a rage. "I ought to give you my sword through the body."

"A gentleman ought not to demand, for nothing, that which a poor man makes his living by selling," answered the host, turning to go in.

I looked down at my horse, which had already shown an endurance beyond its stock, and which now turned its eyes, hungrily, towards the inn stable. At the same time I thought I heard the sound of hoofs, away northward. After all, the delivery of the letter depended more on the horse than on my sword, for one horse is more likely to beat seven horses than one sword to beat seven swords.

To try whether it were possible, I made one movement, as if to hand over the weapon. But my arm refused. As well try to pluck the heart out of my body, and give it to the dog's keeping. Rather kill the man on his own threshold and, like a brigand, help myself. But I chose to be merciful.

"Be quick, then," I said. "Bring me some wine, and feed my horse as it stands here. I could take, for nothing, what you ask such high security for."

"And I have three strong sons," said the innkeeper, impudently. But he brought the wine, and ordered one of his sons to bring oats for the horse. So we made our breakfast there, horse and man, standing before the inn door. When the animal had licked up the last grain, I suddenly hurled the heavy wine-mug at the innkeeper's head, wheeled my horse about, and galloped off, shouting back to the half-stunned rascal, "Your three sons must be swift, as well as strong, to take my sword." And I rode on, southward.

"Will the Guisards follow me over this river, also?" I asked myself, as I crossed the Garonne.

In the afternoon, I stopped for another look backward. There was not a soul to be seen on the road.

"Adieu, M. Barbemouche!" I said. "I believe you have grown tired of me at last."

At that instant a group appeared at the distant turn of the road. I counted them. Seven! And they were coming on at the speed of the wind.

I patted my horse on his quivering neck. "Come, old comrade," I said. "Now for one last, long race. In your legs lies my future."

He obeyed the spur, and his increased pace revealed a slight lameness, which had not before been perceptible.

"We have only to reach some Gascon town," I said to him. "The soldiers of the King of Navarre will protect the bearer of a letter to him from their Queen."

I turned in my saddle, and looked back. They were gaining ground.

"They know that this is their last chance," I said. "We are near the country held by the King of Navarre, and so they make a last effort before giving up the chase. On, my staunch fellow! You shall have fine trappings, and shall fare as well as your master, for this!"

The animal maintained its pace as if it understood; but it panted heavily and foamed, its eyes took on a wild look, and its lameness increased.

"They are coming nearer, there is no doubt of it!" I told myself. "Have I escaped from the Louvre and from Paris, led my enemies a chase through five provinces, to be taken when refuge is at last in sight? Shall Marguerite's letter to Henri of Navarre fall into the hands of those who wish him no good?"

Tears gushed from my eyes as I thought of the cruelty of destiny, which had sustained me so far in order to betray me at the end. I took the letter from my doublet, and held it ready to tear into pieces should I indeed be caught. Although Marguerite was thought to have secrets with the Duke of Guise, it was likely that she would not wish him to know what she might write to her husband, whose political ally she always was.

And now my horse dropped its head lower at each bound forward. The seven horses behind showed no sign of tiring.

"Thank God, I kept my sword! I can kill one of them, at least!"

I no longer looked back. Blindly forward I went, impelled only to defer the end to the last possible moment. God knew what might yet intervene.

Suddenly my horse gave a snort of pain, stumbled blindly, and fell to his knees. He slid forward a short distance, carried on by his impetus, and then turned over on his side, and lay quivering. I had taken my feet from the stirrups at his stumble, so that I now stood over his body.

I heard the loud clank of the hoofs behind. I stepped over the horse, and drew my sword. A short distance ahead was a clump of scrubby pines; there I would turn and make my stand.

Then was the time when I might have torn up the letter, had I not suddenly forgotten my intention. I held it clutched in my hand, mechanically, as I ran. I was conscious of only one thing,—that death was bearing down on me. The sound of the horses' footfalls filled my ears. Louder and louder came that sound, drowning even the quick panting of my breath. Again came that aching in the side, that intolerable pain which I had felt in my flight from Paris.

I pressed my hand to my side, and plunged forward. Suddenly the road seemed to rise and strike me in the face. I had fallen prostrate, and now lay half-stunned on the earth. I had just time to turn over on my back, that I might face my pursuers, when the foremost horse came up.

"Well, my man," cried the rider, in a quick, nervous voice, as I looked stupidly up at his short, sturdy figure, hooked nose, keen eyes, black hair and beard, and shrewd, good-natured face, "did you think the devil was after you, that you ran so hard? Ventre Saint Gris! You would make an excellent courier."

"I am a courier," I answered, trying to rise. "I ran so fast that I might soon reach Nerac with this letter for your majesty."

And I held the letter out to King Henri of Navarre.



CHAPTER VII.

HOW HE ANNOYED MONSIEUR DE LA CHATRE

I had never seen Henri of Navarre, before, but had often heard him described, and no other man exactly fitted his description. His favorite oath confirmed my recognition.

He took the letter, saying, "It looks as if it had been through fire and flood"

"I had to swim the Seine with it," I said.

He read it, sitting on his horse in the middle of the road, I standing beside the horse, the other six riders eyeing me curiously.

Having finished it, he looked at me with some interest and approval. "And what made you run from us?" he asked.

"Sire, there were seven horsemen left in the party that has been chasing me for some days past. Counting seven in your group, I too quickly assumed that it was the same."

The King of Navarre laughed, and ordered one of the lackeys to give me his horse and proceed afoot to the nearest town. When I was mounted, he asked me to ride beside him.

"The speed at which you rode excited our curiosity," he explained, "and that is why we gave chase."

I learned, later, that Henri and three of his gentlemen, with three valets, had been inspecting the defences of one of his Gascon towns, and were now returning to Nerac. He sometimes traversed those parts of his French provinces where his authority as governor was recognized, without any state, and often without a guard.

In reply to his questions, I said that I preferred a military position to a civil one, but confessed my inexperience. He told me that I might serve as ensign in one of his regiments, at Nerac, until I should acquire some knowledge of military affairs, when he would give me a captain's commission, and I might enlist a company.

I told him of the destruction of my chateau, and the loss of my money. He thereupon required me to accept the horse on which I rode, and a purse which one of the valets handed over to me. As he then beckoned one of his gentlemen to his side, I fell back. We entered Nerac in the evening. As soon as the gate was passed, the King and his followers turned towards the chateau, and I took the main street to an inn.

The King of Navarre kept his promises. I had been ensign for only a few months, stationed at Nerac, when he sent for me, and informed me that he intended to augment his army, and that he would maintain a company of my raising. He caused a captain's commission to be given to me before I left the chateau. I walked thence, down the avenue of fine trees, which were now in full leaf, before the chateau, debating with myself the possibility of easily raising a company. When I reached the square before the inn, I heard from within a human roar which had a familiar sound. Entering, I found that it proceeded from the stentorian lungs of Blaise Tripault, the young soldier who had aided my flight to Gascony by killing two Guisards in my defence. He was sitting at a table, very drunk.

"Ah, Blaise Tripault," I cried, "I see that your father prevails in you now!"

He recognized me, threw his bottle of wine out of the open window, and made an attempt at sobriety.

"You have been long on the way to Nerac," I went on, "but you come just in time to keep your promise. I enroll you first in the company which the King has commissioned me to raise."

"I thank you, monsieur," he replied. "I will now go to bed, and will come to you as soon as I am sober."

He was of great use to me in enlisting the company. He scoured the country daily, and brought me recruits. When the roll was complete, I was ordered to remain at Nerac for a time. Subsequently, I was sent to garrison different towns, one after another, not only in Gascony and parts of Guienne but also in Henri's principality of Bearn and his little kingdom of Navarre.

I am proud to have had a share in the constant efforts made by Henri of Navarre, while the world thought him given over entirely to gallantry at his small but agreeable court, to increase his territory and his resources against the time when he was to strike the great blows that no one yet dreamed he was meditating. Thanks to the unwillingness, or inability, of the King of France to put him in actual possession of his governorship of Guienne, we had the pleasant task, now and then, of wresting some town from the troops of the League or of Henri III. Our Henri had to take by force the places ceded to him by the King of France as Marguerite's dower, but still withheld from him. One of these was Cahors, in the taking of which I fought for days in the streets, always near our Henri, where the heart of the fighting was. It was there that Blaise Tripault covered himself with glory and the blood of the enemy, and was openly praised by the King.

But my life in the south had other pleasures besides those of fighting. As Henri's was a miniature kingdom, so was his court, at cheerful Nerac or sombre Pau, a miniature court; yet it had its pretty women and gallant gentlemen. Gaiety visited us, too, from the greater world. When the King of France and the Queen-mother thought it to their interest to seem friendly to our Henri, they ordered Marguerite to Nerac. Catherine herself came with her, bringing the Flying Squadron, that Henri and his Huguenots might be seduced into the onesided treaties desired by her. Catherine was one of the few, I think, who foresaw Henri's possible future. Her astrologer, Cosmo Ruggieri, had predicted that he would succeed her three sons to the throne of France, and I suppose she could not endure the thought of this. Better a Guise than a Bourbon, the son of Jeanne d'Albret. But our Henri might be useful to her as an instrument to check the Duke of Guise in any attempted usurpation during the life of her son. Therefore, Henri was to be cajoled while he was being restrained. But he was not fooled into disadvantageous compacts or concessions. All that he lost was a single town, which Catherine caused to be attacked while he was at a fete; but he learned of this at the fete, and retaliated by taking a town of the French King's on the same night.

I was presented to Catherine while she was at Nerac. No allusion was made to the circumstances which had caused my flight from Paris, or, indeed, to my having ever been in Paris. Yet, from her scrutiny of my features, I knew that she recalled those circumstances with my name. But Nerac was not the place where it would serve her to concern herself about me. I learned from one of Catherine's gentlemen that Mlle. d'Arency, who had not come with her to Nerac, had wedded the Marquis de Pirillaume, who was jealous and kept her on his estate in Dauphiny, away from the court. I wished him joy of her.

When Catherine and her troop went back to the French court, leaving Marguerite at Nerac, they could boast of a few Huguenot gentlemen won over to their designs, but I was not one of the few. I do not say that I did not amuse myself where charming women abounded, but I kept my heart to myself. I had not resolved to become invulnerable to woman, but I had determined that she by whom I would let myself be wounded should be one vastly unlike any in Catherine's train. When I should find the woman pure as beautiful, incapable of guile, I would love. "Somewhere in France," I often said to myself, "that woman exists. I shall know her when I see her." As in the former affair, I had my ideal already formed, and was already in love, watching for the embodiment of that ideal to appear. But this second ideal was different from the first. And it is time to tell how at last I met her,—and how, for a while, the reality seemed worse even than the first The death of the Duke of Anjou, after his reconciliation with the King, his brother, and his failure to win the crown he sought in the Netherlands, was a great event for us in Gascony. It left our Henri of Navarre next in succession to the throne of France. And our Henri was a sturdy man, while Henri III. seemed marked by destiny to follow the three other sons of Catherine to an early grave. It appeared that Marguerite monopolized all the longevity granted to the family. But we knew that the Guises and their League would not let our Huguenot Henri peacefully ascend his throne. Therefore, Henri's policy was to strengthen himself against the time when the death of Henri III. should leave the throne vacant for him. It was his interest also to prevent a usurpation of that throne during the life of Henri III., for such a usurpation would eventually exclude himself also. Thus circumstance made him the natural ally of Henri III. It was, conversely, the interest of the Guises to sow enmity between the two kings. The power of the League in France, and particularly in Paris, was now so great that Henri III. dared not oppose the wishes of the Duke of Guise. He was reduced to devices for gaining time. And so, against his own interest, he sanctioned the war which the League presently demanded against the Huguenots,—a war which might do two things for the Duke of Guise: destroy the next heir to the throne, and deprive the present King of his chief resource against a usurpation. For the present, the Duke of Guise cloaked his design by having the Pope proclaim the old Cardinal de Bourbon heir to the throne, our Henri being declared ineligible on account of heresy.

In the summer of 1585, the King of France issued anti-Huguenot edicts required by the League. Governors of provinces were ordered to make it uncomfortable for the "heretics." Several of them promptly obeyed, arresting some Huguenots for remaining in their provinces, and arresting others for trying to escape therefrom. By this time, Henri of Navarre had gathered a sufficient army and acquired a sufficient number of towns to hold his own in Guienne, and, indeed, throughout southwestern France. The Prince de Conde also put a Huguenot army in the field. Pending the actual opening of war, which the edicts of Henri III. foreshadowed, our Henri maintained a flying camp in Guienne. Every day recruits came, some of them with stories of persecution to which they had been subjected, some with accounts of difficulty in escaping from their provinces. One day I was summoned to the presence of Henri of Navarre.

"M. de la Tournoire," said he, speaking with his usual briskness and directness, "there are, in most of the provinces of France, many Huguenots who have publicly recanted, to save their lives and estates. Many of these are secretly for us. They would join me, but they fear to do so lest their estates be confiscated. These are to be assured that what they may lose now by aiding me shall some day be restored to them. Here is a list of a number of such gentlemen in the province of Berry, and you are to give them the assurances necessary to enlist them in our cause. Use what persuasions you can. Take your company, and find some place of concealment among the hills of the southern border of Berry. You can thus provide escort in crossing the border for those who may need it. Where you can in any way aid a Huguenot to escape from the province, where you can rescue one from death or prison, do so, always on condition of promised service in our cause. As for the gentlemen whose names are on this list, have them bring, as contributions, what money and arms they can. We are in even greater need of these than of men. Impress upon these gentlemen that their only hope of ultimate security lies in our triumph. It is a task of danger with which I charge you, monsieur, and I know that you will, therefore, the more gladly undertake it. The governor of Berry, M. de la Chatre, is one of the bulwarks of the League. I learn that he is enforcing the edicts of Henri III. against the Protestants with the greatest zeal. He is devoted to the Duke of Guise, and is one of our most formidable enemies. It will not, therefore, be well for you to fall into his hands. Go, monsieur, and God be with you!"

I bowed my thanks for the favor of this dangerous mission, and went away with the list in my doublet, proud of having been made the confidant of Henri's resolution to fight for his rights to the end. I was elated, too, at the opportunity to work against the King of France and the Duke of Guise.

To annoy and hamper M. de la Chatre in his work of carrying out the public edicts of the King and the secret designs of the Duke, would give me the keenest joy. For once, both my great enemies, usually so opposed to each other in interest, could be injured at the same time by the same deeds; and such deeds would help my beloved captain, by whom I had been chosen to perform them. I could hardly contain my happiness when I returned to my company, and ordered immediate preparations for a night's march northward.

We set out, myself and Tripault mounted, the others afoot, with several horses bearing provisions and supplies. Marching at night, and concealing ourselves in the forests by day, we at last reached the mountains that form part of the southern boundary of Berry. They were thickly wooded, and though the month of August made them a series of masses of deep green, they presented a sombre aspect.

"It is somewhere up there," I said, pointing toward the still and frowning hills before us, "that we are to find a burrow, from which to issue forth, now and then, to the plains on the other side."

"The only man in the company who knows this country," replied my devoted squire, Blaise Tripault, "is Frojac, but he makes up for the ignorance of the others by knowing it very well. He can lead us to the most deserted spot among these mountains, where there is an abandoned chateau, which is said to be under a curse."

"If part of it is under a roof as well, so much the better," I answered. "Bring Frojac to me."

Blaise rode back along the irregular line formed by my rude soldiers, picked out an intelligent looking young arquebusier, and led him forward to me. I made this man, Frojac, our guide.

After toilsome marches, forcing our way up wooded ascents devoid of human habitation, and through almost impenetrable thickets of brushwood, we crossed the highest ridge of the mountain chain, and from a bare spot, a natural clearing, gazed down on the Creuse, which wound along the line formed by the northern base of the mountains. Beyond that lay the province of Berry, which was to be the scene of our operations. Some leagues to the northeast, crowning a rocky eminence that rose from the left bank of the Creuse, stood a mass of grim-looking towers and high gray walls. From the southern side of this edifice, a small town ran down the declivity to the plain.

"What is that place yonder?" I asked.

"It is the town and chateau of Clochonne," said Frojac.

"Who occupies the chateau?"

"It belongs to M. de la Chatre, the governor of the province, who sometimes comes there. A part of it is occupied by a garrison."

We resumed our progress through the forest, now descending the northern slope of the ridge. After some hours, when night was already beginning to fall in the woods, Frojac pointed ahead to a knoll covered with huge trees between whose trunks the space was choked with lesser vegetation.

"There it is," he said. "The Chateau de Maury."

We made our way through the thicket, and came suddenly upon ruined walls, rising in the midst of trees. Wild growths of various kinds filled up what had been the courtyard, and invaded the very doors. The broken walls and cracked towers themselves seemed as much a part of nature as the trees and bushes were. Branches thrust themselves through apertures in the crumbling stone. Southward from the foot of the knoll rose the mountains, eastward and westward extended an undulating natural platform that interrupted the descent of the mountain side. Northward the ground fell in a steep precipice to the left bank of the Creuse, along which ran a little-used road from Clochonne, which was northeast, to Narjec, which was southwest.

"Is there a path down the slope, by which we could reach that road, should we wish to go north by way of Clochonne?" I asked.

"I do not think so," replied Frojac. "But there used to be a road from here to Clochonne, through the forest. It has not been used since the Sieur de Maury left, twenty years ago, to hunt for gold in the new world. They said that, before going, he made a compact with the devil, here, by which Satan was to lead him to a land of gold across the sea. The devil is believed to be taking care of his estate until he returns. Perhaps this road has not been entirely wiped out by the forest."

A part of the chateau was yet under roof. This portion included the hall and three or four chambers above it. On the day after our arrival, we found the road through the forest still sufficiently open to serve us for expeditious egress. This abandoned way did not itself go to Clochonne, but it ran into a road that went from that town southward across the mountain. At the point of junction was the abode of an old woodman and his wife, where the couple maintained a kind of inn for the entertainment of people crossing the mountain. This man, Godeau, was rheumatic, bent, thin, timid, shrill-voiced, and under the domination of his large, robust, strong-lunged spouse, Marianne. By means of a little flattery, a gold piece, promises of patronage, and hints of dire vengeance upon any who might betray me, I secured this woman's complete devotion. These two were the only human dwellers within two leagues of our chosen hiding-place.

In Guienne, my master considered as enemies those who did not acknowledge his authority, and he provisioned his army at their expense. Inasmuch as the province of Berry was making war on our party, I treated it as hostile country, subject to pillage, according to the customs of war. It is true, some of its people were friendly to our cause, but it was as much their duty to contribute to our maintenance, since we were fighting in their behalf, as it was our right to take from those to whom our relation was one of warfare. So I gave my men permission to forage, putting but one condition upon them,—that of losing their lives rather than allow our hiding-place to be disclosed. Thus, by virtue of many nightly visits to farms in the vicinity of Clochonne and Narjec, we contrived to avoid the pangs of an empty stomach.

Having established my company on a living basis at Maury, I began with relish the work of annoying M. de la Chatre. I sent out certain of my men, severally, to different parts of southern Berry as seekers of information. In the guise of peasants, or of soldiers going to serve in the army which the Governor, La Chatre, was then augmenting, they learned much that was valuable to me. It is written, under the title of "How the Lord Protected His Own and Chastised His Enemies in Berry," in the book called "The Manifold Mercies of God to His Children," by the pastor Laudrec, who has reported rightly what I related to him: how we made recruits for Henri of Navarre by finding out Huguenots in towns and villages and convincing them that they were sure to be arrested should they remain in Berry; how we guided these out of the province by various ways of our own discovery, across the mountain; how we interrupted the hanging of several men at Issoudun, who had been condemned for heresy and treason, and sent them in safety to Guienne; how certain of my men, without my authority, despoiled Catholic churches of their instruments of idolatry, and thus helped to replenish the treasury of our master; how I once marched my company by night to a wood near Bourges, lay in wait there until a guard came, conducting captured Huguenots for trial, attacked the guard, rescued the prisoners, and protected them in a hurried flight to the border, whence they proceeded to swell the army of our Henri; and how we served our cause in numerous other exploits, which I need not relate here, as you may read them in Laudrec's book, printed in Geneva.

The many secret departures of Huguenots from southern Berry, despite the vigilance of the garrisons at Clochonne and other frontier strongholds, must naturally have attracted the attention of the authorities, and so must the sudden public appearances that I made with my company on occasions like that at Issoudun and that near Bourges. My men, who moved, unknown, among the people, began to hear reports of a mysterious captain who hid in the southern hills and sallied forth at night to spirit Huguenots away. To this mysterious captain and his band were attributed not only all the exploits that we did accomplish, but many that we did not; and some daring robberies, of which we were innocent, were laid to our charge.

Finally, in September, I had evidence that our deeds had begun to make an impression on M. de la Chatre, the illustrious governor of the province and of the Orleannais as well. One of my men, Roquelin, saw in the market-place of Chateauroux an offer of five hundred crowns for the capture of this unknown rebel captain, which document was signed by La Chatre. I here saw an opportunity to make myself known in high places as one capable of harming and defying his enemies, despite their greatness. I was rejoiced at the hope of acquainting the Duke of Guise and the King of France with the fact that I had survived to work defiantly against their cause, under the very nose of one of their most redoubtable servants. I had not been of sufficient consequence for the Duke to fear, or for the King to protect, but now I was of sufficient consequence, as their enemy, for a price to be put on my head. So I sent one of my clever fellows, Sabray, to fasten by night beside La Chatre's placard in Chateauroux, a proclamation of my own, in which I offered ten crowns for the head of M. de la Chatre, and twenty crowns for that of his master, the Duke of Guise. I appended this signature: "The Sieur de la Tournoire, who does not forget." I knew that some of La Chatre's enemies would take great pleasure in making this known to the Duke of Guise, and that the latter would reproach the King with my continued existence. It irritates the great to be defied by the small, and to irritate these two great ones was my delight.

I soon learned, with glee, that my return of compliments had reached the knowledge of the governor. Maugert brought me word of a notice posted in Clochonne, in which La Chatre doubled his offer and termed me the "heretic, rebel, traitor, and robber calling himself Sieur de la Tournoire."

While I gave myself the pleasure of annoying M. de la Chatre, I did not neglect the more important service imposed on me by Henri of Navarre. Accompanied only by Blaise Tripault, and travelling by night, I visited, one after another, the gentlemen named on my master's list, and used what eloquence I had, pointing out the expediency of assuring future security by making present sacrifices for our cause. Many of them required very little persuasion. On hearing that Henri of Navarre had given his word to defend his succession with his sword, they nobly left their estates and went to join his army, carrying with them what money and arms they could take. Thanks to the guidance of my men, they eluded the garrisons on the border.

It was in early October, when the forests were turning yellow, brown, and red, and the fallen leaves began to lie in the roads, that I started out with Blaise Tripault to visit the gentleman named last on the list.

"Monsieur," said Blaise, as we neared the end of our hidden forest road and were approaching the inn of Godeau, "I have in me a kind of feeling that this, being our last excursion, is likely to be the most dangerous. It would doubtless please Fortune to play us an ugly trick after having served us so well hitherto."

"Nonsense!" I replied.

"I believe that is what the famous Bussy d'Amboise said when he was warned not to keep his appointment with Mme. de Monsoreau," returned Blaise; "yet he was, none the less, killed by the rascals that lay in ambush with her husband."

"Thanks to the most kingly King of France, Henri III., who advised M. de Monsoreau to force his wife to make the fatal appointment with Bussy. Thanks, also, to the truly grateful Duke of Anjou, who rewarded Bussy for his faithful service by concurring in the plot for his assassination."

"The Duke was worse than the King, for the King has been loyal to his chosen favorites. Think of the monument he erected in honor of De Quelus, and the others who got their deaths in that great duel in the horse-market. Par dieu! I should like to have seen those girl-men of the King and those Guisards killing one another!"

"I have observed, Blaise, that you take an extraordinary pleasure in the slaughter of Guisards."

"I was in Coligny's house, monsieur, on the night of the St. Bartholomew. I was one of those who, at the Admiral's command, fled to the roof, and from the roof of the next house I saw Coligny's body thrown into his courtyard, and the Duke of Guise turn it over with his foot and wipe the blood from the face to see if it were indeed my old captain's. Since then, the sight of the white cross of Guise stirs in me all the hell that my diabolical father transmitted to me. And I should not like to see you fall into the hands of this Chatre, who is the right arm of the Duke of Guise in Berry. That is why I give heed to the premonition that troubles me regarding this journey."

"Certainly we cannot abandon the journey."

"No, but we can take unusual precautions, monsieur. Reports of our doings are everywhere. Has it never occurred to you that you are, in appearance, exactly the sort of man who would be taken for our leader? Ought you not to disguise yourself?"

"An excellent idea, Blaise! I shall put on your clothes, and you shall put on mine,—I shall pass as your lackey. It will be quite amusing."

"That is not the disguise I should have suggested," said Blaise, looking not too well pleased with the idea. "It would require me to pass as a gentleman."

But I saw possibilities of fun in the thing, and welcomed any means of enlivening our excursion. Therefore, we dismounted at Godeau's inn, and made the exchange of attire, much against the liking of Blaise, who now repented of having advised any disguise at all. My clothes were a little too tight for Blaise, for I was of medium size, and he puffed and turned red in the face, and presented a curious appearance of fierceness and discomfort. When I looked at him, I could not help laughing, and he met my glance with a grim and reproachful countenance. I did not think that his brown doublet and breeches and brown felt hat and feather were much disguise for me. As we rode along, I diverted myself by trying to assume a servile mien, which did not easily fit my rather bold face, prominent nose, keen gray eyes, up-curling brown mustache and pointed brown beard. With his curly reddish hair and beard, defiant mustache, honest, big, blue eyes, swelling red cheeks, and robust body, Blaise looked like one who must have had his dignities thrust upon him very recently.

We reached, without accident, our destination,—the chateau of the Baron d'Equinay,—and that gentleman was speedily won by the assurances that I bore him from Henri of Navarre. He desired, before starting for Guienne, to go to Paris, where he had resources, and he rode off northward at the same moment when we departed southward to return to Maury.

"It is well!" I cried to Blaise, as we rode in the bracing air of the October morning. "We have carried our King's message to every one of his chosen adherents in Berry. We ride through the province of M. de la Chatre, breathe his fresh air, absorb his sunshine as freely as he does himself. You see how reliable were your premonitions when we last set out from Maury."

"It is not too late yet, monsieur," growled Blaise, whose temper was ill while he wore my clothes; "we are not yet back at Maury."

"You will talk less dismally over a bottle of good wine, Blaise. Therefore, I intend to stop at the first inn on the way. I hope it is a good one, for I am very hungry."

"There is an inn at this end of Fleurier," said Blaise, "but I would not stop if I were you."

But I was not to be moved from my intention. When a man has finished a set task, it is time to eat and drink. Therefore, we stopped at the little inn at the northern edge of Fleurier. A gray, bent innkeeper, very desirous of pleasing, welcomed us and went to look after our horses, while Blaise, acting the part of master, ordered a black-eyed, pretty inn-maid to serve us dinner in a private chamber. The room assigned us was at the head of a stairway leading from the kitchen. We had no sooner seated ourselves than our ears were assailed by the clatter of many horses on the road outside. They stopped before the inn, and we heard the voices of two men who entered the kitchen, and of a great number who remained without. When the inn-maid brought us a bottle of wine, Blaise asked her whose cavalcade it was that waited before the inn.

"It is that of the governor of the province, M. de la Chatre," said she, "who is below with his secretary, M. de Montignac."

And she left the room in haste to help serve so distinguished a guest.



CHAPTER VIII.

A SWEET LADY IN DISTRESS

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 chateau of Fleurier until the judges, whom I will instruct, shall find him guilty of treason. Then his body shall hang at the chateau 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 Tour noire 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 chateau 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."