Whether it were the effect of the candlelight, or whether it were due to the exertion of the day, I know not, but it seemed to me as I entered the room that mademoiselle looked pale and worn, and there was a reserve and constraint in her manner that had been absent before. I made some vapid remark about the warmth of the weather, hoping it had not added to her fatigue, to which she answered that she was tired, but that a night’s rest would, doubtless, see her as well as ever by morning. The landlord at this moment announcing supper as served we went to table. At first my companion played with her food, but, yielding to my pressure, began to eat, and in a little the colour came back to her cheeks, the brightness returned to her eyes, and the coldness in her manner wore off. The landlord himself personally attended to us, and I observed that, whilst his manner towards mademoiselle was deferential and respectful in the extreme, his tone towards me was that of sulky obedience. This was so different from my first reception that, with my suspicions already aroused, it was impossible for me not to see it, and so I took the chance of a shot in the dark, saying:

“We have seen nothing of our fellow-guest, mademoiselle. It seems that, like the mole, he dislikes light. I have been thinking that, perhaps, it would be well to unearth him.”

Whilst saying this I kept my eyes on an ornament on the table, but as I finished I glanced up swiftly. The landlord was at the time engaged in handing some fruit to mademoiselle, but at my remark he almost dropped the plate, and mademoiselle said, with a laugh: “You will have to arrest everyone we meet on the road, monsieur, if your suspicions are aroused so easily.” Nevertheless, I was certain that a glance of understanding had passed between her and the landlord, and I felt sure that it would be well to pay a little attention to the retiring stranger.

As I expected, the landlord shortly after retired, leaving us alone. The room we were in was long and low, with a window opening into the garden. Mademoiselle was sitting facing this window, which lay open because of the warmth of the night, whilst my back was turned towards it. I said something about the landlord’s manner, and mademoiselle replied:

“He is of lower Poitou, monsieur. Men there are like their country sullen and sad.” And then she stopped suddenly, her eyes fixed on the window, whilst her colour came and went. She had not the gift that cynics assert is a special attribute of the sex, and was a bad dissembler; and I here venture to say such women make the best of wives, even though life’s passage with them may be at times a little stormy.

“Is there anything there?” I asked, making a movement as if to turn round; but she said hastily:

“No, nothing; I thought I saw a figure passing that is all.”

“One of my men, no doubt,” I said carelessly. “We may rest secure to-night, for they will keep good watch.”

To this she made no answer, but taking a rose from out of a vase near her began to pluck the petals in an absent manner and lay them beside her. When a woman’s wits are pitted against those of a man it is well for him to disregard nothing, and, slight as this action was, I took note of it. I counted the petals as she plucked them. They were twelve in all. Then she cast the rose aside, and picked up the petals one after another, counting them aloud, and when she came to the twelfth she put them in a heap beside her plate.

“Twelve,” I said. “Is that a magic number?”

“No, monsieur; but it is my lucky number.” And rising she moved to the window and, sitting thereon, looked forth. The night was dark, and all the stars were out. From the open window, a pennon of light streamed out into the garden, heavy with the scent of roses. Mademoiselle took a deep breath, and then pointing to the twinkling lights above us, asked:

“Are you learned in the stars, Monsieur Broussel?”

I looked out too, for I was standing at the window, and laughed.

“No, mademoiselle; all I know is that the star I was born under has not done much for me. I remember, some years ago, when I was in Italy, an astrologer made a horoscope for me; but I have lost it.”

“You do not believe in the stars, then?”

“Who can tell, mademoiselle! But a man’s life is mostly of his own making, and a woman’s too for the matter of that. There is an invariable law of Nature or of God. It is that the breaker pays, and sooner or later all learn this.”

“Ciel! how serious you are!” And her brown eyes met mine.

“The stars should never laugh, mademoiselle.”

“They cried over me when my fortune was told.”

“May I ask ”

“Oh yes! but fortune for fortune. If I tell you mine will you tell me yours?”

“Certainly.”

“Well, mine was short: it was simply to beware of a church under the ground and a woman in black and white. I have never seen such a church nor ever met such a woman.”

I thought of Diane of Valentinois and her favourite colours, and a sudden chill came over me. For a moment I stood silent.

“Now for yours, monsieur,” she said gaily.

“Mine! Well, it was wrapped up in long names, and I never could make aught of it. As far as I remember, Aquarius, Mars, and Mercury are in the ascendant, and the face of Venus is from me. In the second house Sol is in Pisces. In the fifth Luna in Gemini, and Jupiter ”

She put her hands to her ears. “Enough, monsieur! I almost fear to look out, lest I should see a cauldron of burning sulphur, and witches dancing around it.”

And as she spoke there came to us the distant echoes of hoarse laughter. I recognised the voices of the landlord and Capus, my man-at-arms.

“‘Tis not Capus’ business to hob-nob with the host at this hour, mademoiselle. I had better go and see that he keeps stricter watch.”

With this I made a half movement to go, but she stayed me with a little gesture of command.

“Monsieur Broussel, I have a favour to ask of you; will you grant it?”

“Mademoiselle, all that is in my power I will do. What is it?”

For answer she stood up and placed a hand on my shoulder, her eyes looking straight into mine. “Monsieur, a brave man like you should not be a gaoler of women. Let me free!”

I made no reply; but as her eyes, soft and imploring, met mine all the love in my heart rose within me. For her sake no Roman constancy would have held me to any vow; but I knew that Montluc had spoken the truth, I knew the danger she was in, and that the one chance of her safety lay in her being under the Queen’s protection.

“Mademoiselle!” I stammered; but she broke in on me.

“Yes! You will let me go, will you not? Monsieur, I hate the thought of Paris and its dark intrigues; and the fate of those who belong to my faith is ever with me, like a horrible dream. I dread, I fear, each hour that brings me nearer to what I know will be my death. Monsieur, as you are a gentleman, let me free. Take me to Chatillon, and leave me there with the Cardinal. Odet de Coligny, prince of the Church though he is, is of my faith. I shall be safe there a thousand times safer than a prisoner in Paris. Oh, say you will!”

I took her hand in mine, caressing it as that of a child, and strove to explain, but she would not listen. “Say you will; do not refuse!” she repeated; and, feeling like a hangman, I blurted out that it was impossible. And then she snatched her hand from my grasp, and stood a moment, her face half averted from me. There was an awkward silence, and collecting myself I again pointed out the danger she was in, and that in Paris alone could there be safety for her. I might have spoken to stone walls; but at my words she turned, and there were angry lights in the brown eyes, and her lips were tightly set.

“I shall not trespass further on your good nature, monsieur. I feel you have cancelled the debt I owed you, and henceforth you will understand that I look upon you as my gaoler and nothing more.”

I bowed, and she continued: “And further, I do not desire to have speech with you. I travel as your prisoner; and” with a truly feminine outburst “I shall escape there are friends who will see to that.”

I was so full of wrath at the manner in which I had been treated that I was about to answer back hotly that, friend or no friend, she would ride into Paris by my side; but I restrained myself with an effort, and with another look of anger at me mademoiselle turned, and began to ascend the stairway. I watched her as she went up, with head erect and shining eyes, and stood where I was for some little time utterly dejected and cast down. Even if I had a shadow of a chance it was gone by this. I felt like one who was condemned to execute himself. After a little I moved towards the supper-table, and sitting down there stared aimlessly before me. My eyes fell on the little heap of plucked rose leaves that had been left on the table, and I began, at first half unconsciously, to try and read the meaning of the signal, for such it was I was sure. In the light of her last words, the sting of which still remained with me, I was certain that she had not played with the rose petals idly. I began to go back. She had told Montluc she would escape at the first chance. She had made the attempt this very day, but had apparently accepted defeat. Shortly after coming to the inn there had been a decided change in her manner. Then she had grown friendly again, and finding this fail her had broken out into open defiance. I put all this with the little incident of the window, and her open statement, made in heat, that she had friends who would help her to escape an escape that would lead her into the jaws of the wolf, if she would but understand. Nevertheless, I could make nothing of it, and so for the present gave up guessing, determining to do all I could to protect her, and to leave the rest in the hands of Fate. The landlord coming in at this moment I requested him to send Pierrebon to me, and to show me the way to my chamber. Taking up one of the candles from the table he led me across the room, and along a narrow passage, on one side of which my room was, and then, saying he would send Pierrebon, and wishing me “good-night” with a sulky civility, the man went. Shortly after I heard steps along the passage, there was a knock at my door, and Pierrebon entered. He wore his cloak thrown over his shoulder so as to conceal his left arm and hand, and I could see from the expression of his face that he had news of some kind.

“What is it, Pierrebon?” I asked.

For answer he shut the door carefully, and placing his cloak on the floor put beneath it a small dark lantern, saying as he did so: “I have made free to borrow this, monsieur, as I think, perhaps, it may be needed.”

“Then you have found out something?”

“I think so, monsieur.” And he dropped his voice. “After your warning I set about trying to discover our stranger, but could find no trace of him. Capus and Poltrot, however, had seen him, and told me he had a horse; but there was no horse in the stables, and at first I thought that he might have gone.”

“What about our horses?” I interrupted. “Does anyone watch them?”

“Yes, monsieur; we have old soldiers with us, and Poltrot and Bahuzet watch them, whilst Capus and the Hainaulter Cuyp watch the house all four turn and turn about.

“Capus, however, was drinking with the landlord, and his watch seems lax.”

“No, monsieur! The landlord was drinking with Capus, whom he had paid five gold Henris to cut all our saddlery to-night, especially the reins; the only saddlery to be spared is that of mademoiselle.”

I whistled low, and Pierrebon, diving into his pocket, pulled out five gold pieces, saying: “Here is the money, monsieur, which Capus begs to inquire if he may keep.”

“And five more besides, Pierrebon, and I beg his pardon for doubting him. But what about the stranger?”

“That too is known, monsieur, and I was about to tell you. Whilst the landlord was drinking with Capus I made my way to the kitchen, where my reception was chill, so I took myself out into the garden, and wandering down a pathway heard a whinny. ‘Soh!’ said I to myself, ‘that is a nag there!’ Sure enough there was, and I was about to step up to it when I heard a sound behind me, and heard someone coming up, and saw the light of a lantern. It is dark, as you know, monsieur, and I stepped back into the shadow, and lay there concealed. Presently the men there were two of them came up. One was the ostler, and the other the Vicomte de Ganache, to whom you, monsieur, lent your horse this morning.”

“Are you sure?” I asked with a breath.

“Perfectly, monsieur. I saw the light on his face; and there was the brown horse ”

“Did they say anything?”

“Nothing of import, monsieur. M. lé Vicomte, like a good soldier, was seeing to his beast. When they had attended to him they went back, I following slowly. There is a door leading into the kitchen, and they entered by this, the ostler, however, shutting the slide of his lantern, and leaving it in the angle of the wall. It was careless of him, monsieur, and it is here now.” And Pierrebon smiled.

“Now, Pierrebon, think again: are you sure that nothing of import passed between the two?”

“Nothing, monsieur; they spoke of the horse not a word about us. All that the Vicomte said, as they were leaving, was that he would make all arrangements at midnight; he means, perhaps, to start then. If so, he will need his lantern.”

But I scarce heard Pierrebon’s last words. The key of the rose petals had come to my hand. De Ganache had either arranged to meet, or to escape with, mademoiselle at twelve. This was the secret of it all, I was sure.