monsieur, stop a moment, please, for I have something of importance to say to you."
At the sound of the voice, and the words which it uttered, the horseman raised his head, and seeing the young man at the window, stopped his horse with a movement of his hand which would have done honor to the best of squires.
"Don't stop your horse, monsieur, but ride toward me unconcernedly, as if you knew me."
The traveller hesitated a second; but realizing that he had to do with a gentleman of engaging countenance and pleasant manners, he removed his hat, and rode forward, smiling.
"Here I am, at your service, monsieur," he said; "what can I do for you?"
"Come still nearer, monsieur," continued he at the window; "or what I have to tell you cannot be told aloud. Put on your hat, for we must make them think that we are old acquaintances, and that you were coming to this inn to see me."
"But I don't understand, monsieur," said the traveller.
"You will understand directly; meanwhile put on your hat – good! Now come near, nearer! Give me your hand! That's it! Delighted to see you! Now listen; do not ride on beyond this inn, or you are lost!"
"What's the matter? Really, you terrify me," said the traveller, with a smile.
"The matter is that you are on your way to yonder little house where we see the light, are you not?"
The horseman started.
"Well, on the road to that house, at the bend in the road, in yonder dark thicket, four men are lying in wait for you."
"Oho!" exclaimed the traveller, gazing with all his eyes at the young man, who was quite pale. "Indeed! you are sure?"
"I saw them ride up, one after another, get down from their horses, and hide, – some behind the trees, others behind rocks. Lastly, when you rode out of the village just now, I heard them cock their muskets."
"The devil!" exclaimed the traveller, beginning to take alarm.
"Yes, monsieur, it's just as I tell you," continued the young man at the window; "if it were only not quite so dark you could see them, and perhaps recognize them."
"Oh! I have no need to see them; I know perfectly well who they are. But who told you that I was going to that house, monsieur, and that it is I they are watching for?"
"I guessed it."
"You are a very charming Œdipus; thanks! Ah! they propose to shoot me; how many of them are assembled for that praiseworthy purpose?"
"Four; one of whom seemed the leader."
"He is older than the others, is n't he?"
"Yes, as well as I could judge from here."
"Does he stoop?"
"He is round-shouldered, wears an embroidered doublet, white plume, brown cloak; his gestures are infrequent but imperative."
"As I thought; it's the Duc d'Épernon."
"The Duc d'Épernon!"
"Well, well, here I am telling you my business," said the traveller with a laugh. "I never do so with others; but no matter, you have done me so great a service that I don't care so much what I say to you. How are the men dressed who are with him?"
"Gray helmets."
"Just so; they are his staff-bearers."
"Become musket-bearers for to-day."
"In my honor; thanks! Now, do you know what you ought to do, my young gentleman?"
"No; but tell me your opinion, and if what I ought to do can be of any service to you, I am ready in advance to undertake it."
"You have weapons?"
"Why – yes; I have a sword."
"You have your servant?"
"Of course; but he is not here; I sent him to meet some one whom I expect."
"Very well; you ought to lend me a hand."
"To do what?"
"To charge the villains, and make them and their leader beg for mercy."
"Are you mad, monsieur?" cried the young man, in a tone which showed that he was not in the least inclined for such an expedition.
"Indeed, I ask your pardon," said the traveller; "I forgot that the affair had no interest for you."
Turning to his servant, who had halted when his master halted, he said, —
"Come here, Castorin!"
At the same time he put his hand to his holsters, as if to make sure that his pistols were in good condition.
"Ah, monsieur!" cried the young man at the window, putting out his arms as if to stop him, "monsieur, in Heaven's name do not risk your life in such an adventure! Rather come into the inn, and thereby avoid arousing the suspicion of the men who are waiting for you; consider that the honor of a woman is at stake."
"You are right," rejoined the horseman; "although, in this case, it's not her honor, precisely, but her material welfare. Castorin, my good fellow," he added, addressing his servant, who had joined him; "we will go no farther just now."
"What!" cried Castorin, almost as disappointed as his master, "what does monsieur say?"
"I say that Mademoiselle Francinette will have to do without the pleasure of seeing you this evening, as we shall pass the night at the Golden Calf; go in, therefore, order supper for me, and a bed to be got ready."
As he doubtless saw that Monsieur Castorin proposed to make some rejoinder, he accompanied his last words with a movement of the head which effectually precluded any more extended discussion. Castorin at once passed through the gate, crestfallen, and without venturing to say another word.
The traveller looked after him for an instant; then, after reflecting for another instant, seemed to have made up his mind what course to adopt. He alighted from his horse, passed through the gate on the heels of his lackey, over whose arm he threw his rein, entered the inn, and in two bounds was at the door of the room occupied by the young gentleman, who, when his door was suddenly thrown open, made an involuntary movement of surprise mingled with alarm, which the new-comer could not detect because of the darkness.
"And so," said the latter, approaching the young man with a jovial air, and cordially pressing a hand which was not offered him, "it's a settled fact that I owe you my life."
"Oh, monsieur, you exaggerate the service I have done you," said the young man, stepping back.
"No, no! no modesty; it's as I say. I know the duke, and he's an infernally brutal fellow. As for you, you are a model of perspicacity, a perfect phœnix of Christian charity. But tell me, my obliging and sympathetic friend, if you carried your thoughtfulness so far as to send word to the house."
"To what house?"
"Pardieu! to the house where I was going, – the house where I am expected."
"No,"
