In the excitement attendant in my scuffle with d'Ayen and the subsequent events, ending in my escape from the clutches of the watch, I had for the moment clean forgot Ravaillac's fit of frenzy. I slept profoundly, and towards morning was half awakened by an uneasy feeling that there was someone in the room. This passed away; but a short time after I awoke with a start, and looking around saw Ravaillac bending over some of my things which were lying in a corner of the room. As I looked at him the full recollection of his strange behaviour came back to me, and, a slight movement on my part attracting his attention, he bade me a civil good-morning. He made no mention, however, of his illness, nor did he excuse himself in any way, but set about his duties in a quiet, cat-like manner.

Whilst he moved softly about, I began to piece together the noise of the stumble I had heard outside my door when about to set out with Palin, with Madame Pantin's warning and the scene in the loft. It struck me that his seizure might after all be a blind, and I determined to question the man, and, by watching the play of his features and noting his manner of reply, try and discover if there was anything to show that my idea was correct.

Pretending, therefore, to be unaware of what had passed, I asked:

'How was it you were not in to receive me last night, Ravaillac?'

There was a quick up-and-down movement of the long grey eyes, and he answered:

'I was ill, monsieur; I trust Monsieur le Chevalier is not hurt?'

'Hurt! Why should I be?'

'Monsieur will pardon me, but I thought it possible.'

'How so?'

'Monsieur's clothes were dripping wet when I first came in, and his rapier stained full six inches from the point when I drew it out of its sheath to clean it this morning. It looked like an arm-thrust, and I thought – '

'Never mind what you thought. I had a slight affair last night, but was not hurt.' It was clear to me that he was trying to carry the war into my country, as it were, by counter-questions to mine. I therefore cut him short, and added:

'Your illness came and went very suddenly. Are you often taken that way?'

'Then Monsieur knows – '

'A great many things, perhaps; but kindly answer my question.'

It may have been fancy or not; but it seemed to me that, as once before, I saw the wraith of a smile flit stealthily along his thin lips. He was standing in front of me, holding my rapier, and his eyes were bent down on the polished steel hilt as I spoke.

At first he made no answer, and I repeated my question. This time he looked me full in the face, and the whole expression of the man changed – his cheeks paled, his eyes dilated, his voice took a shrill pitch.

'I cannot tell, monsieur. It comes and goes like the wind. There is a Fear that falls on me – a Fear and something, I know not what, beside; but all before my eyes is red – red as if it rained blood – and then a myriad of devils are whispering in my ears, and there is no safety for me but the cross and prayer. It has passed now – God be thanked! Will Monsieur not take his sword?'

His voice dropped again to its low, soft note as he ended, and handed me my rapier. I buckled it on, thinking to myself, 'My friend, you are either a lunatic at large or a finished actor. In either case you won't do for me.' I said no more, however, but when he gave me my hat he asked:

'Will Monsieur require me in attendance?'

'Yes. I go to the Hôtel de Belin, and I trust this will be the last of your attacks whilst you are with me. The Compte told me you had been a Flagellant, but had recovered.'

'I have been well for a long time, monsieur,' he answered, taking my humour – 'I will try and get ill no more.'

'I am glad of that. Saddle Couronne. I go out at once – you can follow on foot.'

'Monsieur.'

The next moment he was gone, and I heard him running down the stairs. It would take a few minutes to get Couronne ready, but I followed him down at once, as I had an inquiry to make from Madame Pantin. I heard someone moving below in the kitchen, and, thinking it was dame Annette, called down the winding stair:

'Madame – Madame Pantin!'

'Madame is out; but is there anything I can do for Monsieur?' And the notary appeared below, a dim outline, clad in his dressing-gown, with a woollen cap on his head.

I went down to him and asked:

'Pantin, do you know if Ravaillac was out last night?'

'I would have told Monsieur there and then when he came in from his swim in the Seine. No, for I watched and saw him sleeping in the loft.'

'Are you sure?'

'As I am of being here.'

'Thanks! Madame is out early?'

'She has gone to the Rue Varenne; but, monsieur, be careful of that Ravaillac.'

I nodded my head, and then, raising my voice: 'I dine at the Two Ecus as usual – good day!'

'Good day, monsieur!'

Couronne was at the door, Ravaillac at her head, and, mounting, I went at a walking pace towards the Pont au Change, my servant a yard or so behind. It was my intention to see de Belin, to ask him to find out if I was in any danger owing to last night's folly or misadventure – call it what you will – and to beg his advice on the course I was to pursue.

I had been recognised by d'Ayen. My name was known to those with him, and any trouble with the Hôtel de Ville meant hopeless disaster. I had almost made up my mind to conceal myself somewhere until the day of flight; but, before taking any action, thought it advisable to consult my friend, and to return Ravaillac to his service.

On my way to the Rue de Bourdonnais, however, I began to turn the matter of Ravaillac over again in my mind, and found myself between the hedge and the ditch. If I got rid of him, the man, if he was a spy, could watch me in secret; if I kept him with me, the same thing happened. After all, whilst with me he had greater opportunities, and the less of the two evils was to be rid of him – yes, it would be better so.

Imagine my disappointment when reaching his hotel to find that Belin was out! Vallon begged me to wait, explaining that his master had been absent for so long a time that his return would be but a matter of minutes. He had supped out the night before with de Vitry, the Captain of the Scots Guards, and M. le Grand, had come back late, and gone forth very early in the morning, and it was now full time he was back.

I determined therefore to wait, though every moment was of importance to me, and, after a half-hour of patience in an easy chair, rose and walked towards the window, to while away the time by watching what was going on below. One of the heavy brocade curtains was half drawn, and without thinking of it I came up towards that side, and looked out from behind its cover. It struck me as strange that my horse was without the gate, instead of being within the courtyard, and Ravaillac, with the reins thrown over his shoulder, was engaged in converse with a cavalier whose back was turned to me, and whose head was entirely concealed by his broad-brimmed hat and long plumes.

But the tall, straight figure, with its stretch of shoulder, could not be mistaken. It was de Gomeron to a certainty, and my doubts on the point were soon at rest. Keeping as far as possible within the shadow of the curtain, I watched them for full five minutes whilst they conversed together earnestly, and then something changed hands between them. Finally, the cavalier left Ravaillac with a nod to his salute, and crossed over to the other side of the road, where a mounted lackey was holding his horse. As he gained the saddle, he turned his face towards me for an instant. There was no shadow of doubt left. It was de Gomeron, and it was clear that there was more between the free-lance and Ravaillac than there should be, and also I was convinced, I know not how, that what had passed between them touched me, and was not for my good. What object the man had to play traitor I cannot say; but I do know that there are some natures to whom double dealing is as their skin, and whom nothing can turn from falsehood and chicane.

Be this as it may, I knew at any rate the grass where one viper lay, and made up my mind to blunt his fangs without any further delay. I gave de Belin another half-hour, and then, calling Vallon, left a message with him, begging my friend to see me at my lodging on a matter of the utmost moment. As soon as I was in the saddle, I bent forwards, and, looking Ravaillac full in the face, said: 'My friend, you have too many acquaintances for my service; I return you from this moment to Monsieur le Compte.'

'I do not understand, monsieur,' he began to stammer; but I cut him short.

'I spoke clearly enough. I do not require your services further. You are discharged. Take this,' and flinging him a couple of gold pieces, which the scoundrel swooped at like a hawk, I turned the mare's head and trotted off.

I made a short cut down a side street, and, in so doing, had an opportunity of taking a last look at my man. He was standing talking to Vallon, and moving his hands in my direction.

'Reeling out lies by the dozen,' I muttered to myself. 'If I mistake not, there will be another place lost to you by sundown.'

I let myself in by the stable entrance, and, after attending to Couronne, entered the house. There was apparently not a soul within. I sought the lower apartments in the hope of finding either the notary or his wife, to explain to them my action in regard to Ravaillac; but neither of them was visible. There was no answer to my call. There could not be a soul in the house.

I determined, therefore, to go up to my room and await de Belin's coming, and on my opening the door of my sitting-room saw, to my surprise, a man apparently dozing in my armchair. The noise of my entrance awoke him. He jumped up, and I recognised my friend.

'Belin! what good wind has blown you here? But how did you come in? There is no one in the house?'

'There was when I came in, my friend. Do you know' – and he looked me in the face – 'You have made a mess of things.'

'You know already! Belin, I have just been to see you about it. The whole affair was forced on me.'

'Partly. It was lucky I was there, and sober enough to think of cutting the cord of the lamp. You vanished, as I thought you would, and I have been attending to your affairs since then; any other man would have been laid by the heels ere this, but the stars fought for you.'

'Any other man who had not a friend like you, Lisois. But do you really mean that I am safe from arrest?'

'I think so, from any count under the Edict of Blois; but I had a devil of a dance. First of all, the catchpoles insisted upon turning their attentions towards me, and I only got off on the testimony of M. le Baron, who after all is but scratched, though spoiling for revenge. Then I rushed off to de Villeroi; but he, full of his new office as governor of the Hôtel, hummed and hawed – would hear of nothing, he said, until you were provided with a lodging in Fort l'Eveque, and talked big of the law and its course. However, I had an argument to persuade him: little birds twitter odd things into the ears of a chamberlain, sometimes, and he agreed to hold over the matter for a few hours until I had seen the King.'

'The King!'

'Why not, mon ami? With the first streak of light I went to see a friend who shall be nameless, but is a power in the land. An hour later I was at the Louvre and at his Majesty's bedside. Henry was in high good humour. He had won nine thousand crowns last night from the invincible Portuguese, de Pimental. Almost as great a victory as Arques, he said. I related the whole of the circumstances without mentioning your name, and, pledging my word that d'Ayen would be about by this afternoon, begged for a pardon.'

'But the King of course asked for my name.'

'Of course he did, and, in reply, I said I would bring you in person to the Louvre this afternoon: then by good chance Sully himself came in. His lands of Muret march with mine, and Monseigneur is my very good friend. The King began to put him the case, to which Sully listened without a movement, except an occasional glance at a roll of documents in his hand, and when Henry finished said, with a smile —

"'A trifle, sire, that may well be left to M. de Villeroi; perhaps, however, sire, your Majesty might agree to de Belin's petition. There is a spice of mystery about it, which even interests me. I have, however, brought these papers on the Gabelle."

"'Diable! Salty, but hardly a relish – let it be as you wish, Belin; and now for my salt without any soup." I took the hint, as may be imagined, and went straight back to Villeroi, and the matter being now in the hands of the King, he will of course take no action.'

'You have been goodness itself.'

'My dear fellow, let that rest! All that you have to do now is to come with me this afternoon, put your case to the King, and I lay a hundred crowns to a tester you hear no more – of the little affair of last night.'

As he said this, looking me full in the face, with a peculiar stress on the last words of his speech, a sudden light came upon me. Sully's lands marched with those of de Belin. They were friends. Sully did not, for reasons of his own, wish it known that he took an interest in my mission, and the rest was easy to guess.

'Pardieu! That little thrust through the sword arm of M. le Baron is, after all, not so unlucky – eh! Belin? At least, for our very good lord of Muret and Villebon.'

But Lisois only laughed in reply, as he said: 'Add a cat falling on its feet from a church steeple to your scutcheon, d'Auriac. Shall I get Rouge Croix to prick the new coat of arms?'

'As you will; you have made my heart, which was heavy as lead, light once more – I feel now that I am not playing a hopeless game.'

'The proper feeling to have, whatever the hazard be. With all your northern blood, d'Auriac, you should not have so many nerves.'

'You forget my mother was of the south.'

'True, of the Foix Candale. You will die a Huguenot. But I must be going. Meet me at the Rue de Bourdonnais at one, exactly, and I will take you to the Louvre, and now good-bye!' He rose and gave me his hand.

'But, surely, there is no need for you to go now? Dine with me at my ordinary; I have much to tell you.'

Tap! tap! tap! It was dame Annette's little knock at my door, and I knew it was something of import that had brought her to my room.

'One moment, Belin!' and, opening the door, I saw Madame Pantin standing there in breathless agitation.

'What is it, madame? Come in, and speak freely; there is only my friend the Compte de Belin here.'

'It is nothing, monsieur,' she said loudly, and then, dropping her voice to a whisper, 'Ravaillac was out last night. Pantin was deceived. I have come up to tell you so at once: be rid of him. I am asked to tell you this by a friend.'

'A hundred thanks! I have parted with him, and he will not trouble us more. But who is this friend who takes so great an interest in me?'

'You have company, monsieur,' she answered, with a bobbing courtesy, 'I will not intrude longer.' And, without another word, she turned and went away.

When I looked back, Belin was smoothing the plumes in his hat and laughing. 'I heard every word, d'Auriac. So Ravaillac is a mouchard, is he? And you have sent him back to me.'

'I have,' I answered, and then I told my friend what had happened.

His face was grave enough when I ended.

'So that explains one thing,' he muttered to himself, tapping the point of his boot with the end of his sheathed rapier, and then, looking up, said slowly, 'You were right, and he shall sleep in Fort l'Eveque to-night. No, I cannot stay. Be punctual – and see here.' He came close up to me, and rested his hand on my shoulder.

'Though you do not know it, your game forms part of a bigger game played for higher stakes. There are those who love France, and would have no more madness such as that over poor Gabrielle – we are helping you with heart and soul. Be punctual – and adieu. No, I can go out by myself; do not trouble to come down.'

He was gone, and I paced up and down for a quarter of an hour, feeling like a pawn that some unseen hand was moving hither and thither on the chessboard of intrigue. And then I went to my solitary dinner at the Two Ecus.

CHAPTER XIII
THE LOUVRE

It wanted full ten minutes to the hour when I rode through the gates of the Hôtel de Belin, and a moment or so after was with my friend. He was standing in the great hall as I entered, in the midst of a small but brilliantly dressed group of cavaliers. On my being announced, however, he came forward to meet me with outstretched arms.

'Pardieu!' he exclaimed, stepping back a half-pace after our greeting, 'so you have dropped the Huguenot? We poor devils will have but a bad time of it if you turn courtier.'

'Is that likely?' I asked, a little bitterly, and then, in a low tone, 'have you made Ravaillac safe?'

'He has made himself safe,' he whispered, 'he is gone.'

'Gone?'

'Yes – vanished. It is, perhaps, best so. We will discuss him later,' and, raising his voice, 'come, let me present you to my friends,' and he led me up to his companions, who, gathered in a little knot near the huge fireplace, stood surveying us with a well-bred curiosity.

'Gentlemen, permit me to introduce my old comrade, the Chevalier d'Auriac – the Duc de Bellegarde, whom we all call M. le Grand, the Vicompte de Vitry, the Seigneur de Valryn, and the Chevalier d'Aubusson, who, like you, d'Auriac, is new to the court.'

'And who is delighted to meet with an old acquaintance, and trusts that M. de Preaulx is in as good a way.'

'As the company from Paradise – eh, chevalier?' I put in.

'Fairly hit,' exclaimed the lieutenant, and then he must needs tell the story of our little adventure, at which there was much laughter, and it was easy to see that the Marshal and Zamet had no friends in the Rue de Bourdonnais.

'Come, gentlemen,' said de Belin, 'if we delay longer we shall miss the cinque-pace – one health round, and let us start.'

As he spoke, a number of long-necked glasses filled with the wine of Champagne were brought to us. Holding his glass high above his head, de Belin called out:

'Gentlemen – the King.'

The toast was drunk with a cheer in which my voice alone was still; but I joined with the others in shivering my glass to fragments on the white marble of the floor, and then, a gay, laughing crowd, we took horse for the Louvre.

As we trotted along, I could not help wondering to myself at my own outward gaiety, and whether the same bright mask covered thoughts as dark as mine in my companions' hearts. Who, on looking at de Belin and hearing the frivol of his talk, or on casting a glance at the red and honest face of de Vitry, would imagine that these men were hilt-deep in the intrigues of the court? Perhaps the stately Bellegarde, the cynical lord of Valryn, the Thersites of his day, whose ribald tongue had silenced even de Sancy, and that devil-may-care d'Aubusson, were up to the elbows in the same pie!

Absorbed for a moment or so in these reflections I became silent, and was only aroused by Bellegarde riding up alongside of me and calling out —

'A tester for your thoughts, chevalier, and three hundred pistoles for your nag.'

'My thoughts would be expensive at that price, duc, and the pistoles will not buy Couronne.'

'Morbleu! Then name your own price. 'Tis just such a horse as that I have dreamed of to lead the King's House against M. de Savoye.'

'I may need her for the Italian war myself, monseigneur. No, Couronne is not for sale. She bears too heavy a stake for us to part.'

Bellegarde looked at me curiously on my speech, and I half repented of my last words; but he said no more, and a second or so later we were past the Magasins and approaching the main entrance to the Louvre.

The sight before us was gay beyond description. All the good commons of Paris had thronged to see the court re-open, and to catch a glimpse, and perhaps a wave of the hand, from the King, whom they now loved with their whole hearts. They came all in their gayest, and as the cheerful crowd swayed backwards and forwards beyond the long line of guards that kept the entrance to the palace free, it was for all the world like a bank of flowers stirred by the wind.

But it was not the commons alone that had gathered there. From within the palace itself we caught the continual flashes of silvered armour, the sheen of silk and satin, the waving of plumes and the glitter of jewels, and, far as the eye could stretch along the river-face, there was an apparently endless cavalcade approaching the Louvre. In that great heaving crowd, wherein all the strength of France was gathered, we saw, as the wind caught the banners and spread them to the sunlight, that there was hardly a house in France but was represented here, from the lordly seigneurs of Champagne and Guienne, with their splendid followings, to the poor knights of Gascony and Bearn, who had not a tower that was not in ruins amongst them, and could barely maintain the brace of starveling lackeys that rode at the heels of each of these lean-pursed but long-sworded gentlemen. Here one saw the white shield of Couci, the lilies of Conde, the griffins of Epernon, there the cross of Croye, the star of d'Andelot, the red hand of d'Auvergne, and the black wolves on the golden shield of La Roche-Guyon, the proudest lord of Burgundy, who traced his descent far back into the mists beyond the middle ages.

Absorbed as I was in my own troubles, I could not restrain a feeling of pride that rose within me at the scene. Down through that roaring crowd that cheered them again and again as they passed, it was as if all the old historic names of France had gathered to do honour to the day. And I felt, too, as I looked at the endless sea of heads, that this was no longer a France at murderous war with itself, but a united and powerful nation that was being led onwards to its destiny by the strong hand of a man who had quenched a fratricidal struggle; and for the moment I forgot how small he could be who was yet so great.

I had yet to learn how great he could be; and here, as I write these lines in my study in the watch tower of Auriac, round which the sea-gulls circle and scream, my old eyes grow dim, and I lay down my pen and wonder for a moment at His will, which did not shield that brave heart from an assassin's blow.

The throng was so thick that for a time we were unable to gain a passage, and were compelled to go at a walking pace, and Belin, reining in his fretting beast, exclaimed, 'Faith! 'tis the largest gathering I have ever seen.'

'All France is here to-day,' said de Valryn. 'There go d'Ossat, and his Eminence fresh from the Quirinal.'

'I wonder d'Ossat did not win his red hat as well as Monseigneur of Evreux,' said de Vitry.

'Ah! he is so unlike the Cardinal,' replied de Valryn.

'How do you mean?'

'In this way. His Eminence deceives but he never lies; the Bishop, on the other hand, lies, but he never deceives.'

'It would cost you your regiment if the King heard that, de Valryn.'

'On the contrary, I am sure it will get to his ears, and then I could almost hope for the vacant baton, though 'tis said that is already in Ornano's hand – see, there is the Constable's banner!'

'And Bouillon too – the stormy petrel is back from Sedan – I almost sniff war in the air.'

'Oh, he has taken to himself a wife – See! He has quartered the arms of La Marck on his scutcheon.'

'Si dieu ne me vult, le diable me prye,' said d'Aubusson, reading the scroll on the banner of Turenne; and then, the crowd giving way for a moment, we took the opportunity and passed through the gates of the Louvre. So full did we find the Petite Galerie on our entrance, that it was impossible to see or to observe who was there, and all that I was conscious of, as I slowly made my way forwards at the heels of de Belin, was the sound of music, the murmur of voices, and the rippling of gay laughter. In front of us was the noble stairway that led to the Galerie d'Apollon, and between the silent and statue-like figures of the King's House who lined the steps, and who still wore their violet sashes in token of mourning for the death of Gabrielle, there seemed an endless train of men and women advancing upwards. Amongst the jewelled clusters of fair and dainty dames, my eye sought in vain for the face of Madame; but my glance was, for the moment, arrested by the graceful figure of the celebrated La Noirmoutiers, as, with one arched and scarlet-shod foot resting on the white marble of the topmost step of the stairway, she turned to address some laughing remark to the cavalier who was her escort. I had not seen her since I was a boy of fifteen; but years had not changed her – her eyes were as lustrous, her cheeks as pink and dimpled as when she trailed the honour of Lorraine in the dust, and broke the heart of Joyeuse. I could not restrain a feeling of pity for the man upon whom she was now turning the light of her cruel beauty, for there was that in his honest eyes that showed he would do for her what Mornay, what Joyeuse, what Francis of Lorraine had done.

'Who is the man?' I bent forward and whispered to de Belin.

'Poor de Réthelois, who held La Fère so well against us. I fear he will find holding his heart a harder task.'

'He has capitulated already, I think,' I answered, and then she rested one small gloved hand on her escort's arm and they passed out of sight.

By this time I had collected myself to some degree, and began to try and rapidly rehearse in my mind what I should say when I came face to face with the King, but I am not ashamed to confess that at each attempt I found myself getting more and more hopelessly confused, and finally, dropping the effort, determined to let the occasion find its own words. At last we were on the stairway, and in twenty steps had entered the great hall which Henry had built himself, and which was known as the Galerie d'Apollon. Except for the vacant space round the still empty throne, the full length of its seventy yards was almost as much crowded as the hall below; but here the music was much louder, though the laughter and talk was not less merry and incessant. There was not, of course, nearly so much movement, and the people were more or less gathered in little knots or groups, though there were many gay butterflies flitting from one of these to the other.

'Keep by me,' said de Belin, and almost as he spoke we came face to face with Tavannes, de Gie, and de Cosse-Brissac, all dressed in the extreme of fashion. Belin saluted coldly, but my heart warmed towards my old comrades in arms, and I stretched out my hand. This de Gie took limply, but Tavannes and de Cosse-Brissac contented themselves with bows of the politest ceremony. The Vicompte de Gie was, however, effusive in speech if chill in manner.

'It is not everyone who could tear a hole in the Edict as you have done, d'Auriac,' he said; and then added with a smile, 'but who made your cloak? 'Tis a trifle longer than we wear it here.'

'It is short enough for me to see the King in,' I answered a little crisply.

'The King!' exclaimed both Tavannes and Brissac, a marked interest in their tones.

'My dear fellow,' said de Gie, interrupting my reply, 'I knew you would fall on your feet; see here,' and stepping right up to me, he threw open my cloak slightly with a turn of his wrist, 'wear it so, d'Auriac; it shows your cross of St. Denis now.' Then dropping his voice, 'friend or foe? Are you for the Marshal or the Master-General?'

'I am here for a short time,' I replied. 'I have come to see the King. I neither understand nor care about your intrigues.'

'I understand perfectly, monsieur,' he said, falling back, a half-smile on his lips, and, bowing to each other, we passed on in different ways, they down, and I up the hall to join de Belin, who had gone a few paces ahead.

'The King is still in his cabinet,' he said, pointing to a closed door, before which a sentry stood on guard. 'I go in at once. When I come out let it be the signal for you to join me. I will then present you; and mind – speak freely.'

'I mean to,' I answered, and with a nod he passed up through the press. I leaned against the pillar near which I was standing and surveyed the crowd. Madame was nowhere there, or else I had missed her. Perhaps it was better so, for did I see her I might be unnerved; and here Bellegarde joined me.

'Do you see her?' he asked.

'See whom?' I answered, with a start and an eager look around.

'La belle Henriette. See, there she stands! A little court around her, with the brightest eyes and the sharpest tongue in France. I wager a hundred pistoles she will rule us all some day.'

As events showed, Bellegarde was right, though that concerns not this story. I followed his glance, and saw Mademoiselle d'Entragues surrounded by a group of admirers, with whom she was bandying jest and repartee. I saw before me a tall, slight woman, beautiful in a wicked, imperious way, her eyes as black as night, and her features exquisite, but marred in every line, to my mind, by their look of pride. I never saw her again but once, and that was at Bois Lancy, where the once-powerful Marquise de Verneuil had gone to hide her shame.

It was a pleasanter sight to turn from this girl, who was even then weighing the price of her honour, to the cluster of fair faces around the tabouret of Madame Catherine, the King's sister, now the Duchesse de Bar. Close to the Princess was Mary of Guise, and within a few feet of her were the wives and daughters of Rohan, de Pangeas, de Guiche, and d'Andelot. I did not, of course, know who they were, but Bellegarde pointed them out one by one, and then suddenly waved his hand in greeting to a man.

'Ah, there is Pimental! one moment, chevalier,' and he left me to join his friend. I was again alone, and resigned myself to patience, when a voice seemed to whisper over my shoulder:

'If M. le Chevalier will kindly survey the other side of the room, perhaps he will be equally interested.'