yes," the luckless host sighed.
"Very good; now follow my reasoning closely."
"I am doing so."
"When these gentlemen arrive, which according to your statement, will be soon, you will only have one thing to do."
"What is it, monseigneur?"
"Tell them exactly what has passed between us. If I am not greatly mistaken this honest explanation will satisfy them; if it be otherwise—"
"Well, if it be so, what am I to do, sir?"
"Refer them to me, Master Pivois, and I will undertake in my turn to convince them; gentlemen of good birth perfectly understand each other."
"Still, monseigneur—"
"Not a word more on this subject, I must request; but stay," he added, and listened, "I believe your company are arriving."
And he carelessly threw himself back in his chair.
Outside, the trampling of horses on the hardened snow could be distinctly heard, and then several blows were dealt on the door.
"It is they," the host muttered.
"A further reason not to keep them waiting; go and open the door, master, for it is very cold outside."
The landlord hesitated for a moment and then left the room without replying.
The stranger carefully folded himself in his mantle, pulled the brim of his beaver over his eyes, and awaited the entrance of the newcomers, while affecting an air of indifference.
The waiting-men, who had sought shelter in the most remote corner of the room, were trembling in the prevision of a disturbance.
CHAPTER II.
A FAMILY SCENE.
In the meanwhile the new arrivals were making a great noise in the road, and seemed to be growing impatient at the delay in letting them into the hostelry.
Master Pivois at length decided to open to them, though he was suffering from a secret apprehension as to the consequences which the presence of a stranger in the house might have for him.
As soon as a stable-lad had by his orders, drawn back the bolts, and opened the carriage-gates, several horsemen entered the yard, accompanied by a coach drawn by four horses.
By the light of the lanthorn held by his lad the landlord perceived that the travellers were seven in number; three masters, three servants, and the coachman on the box. All were wrapped up in thick cloaks, and armed to the teeth.
So soon as the coach had entered the yard, the horsemen dismounted; one of them, who appeared to exercise a certain authority over his companions, walked up to the landlord, while the others brought the coach up to the main entrance of the house, and closed the gates.
"Well, master," said the traveller to whom we allude, with a very marked foreign accent, although he expressed himself very purely in French; "have my orders been punctually executed?"
At this question, which was very embarrassing to him, Master Pivois scratched his head, and then replied like the cunning peasant he was—
"As far as possibly, yes, my lord."
"What do you mean, scoundrel?" the traveller resumed roughly; "Your instructions were precise enough."
"Yes, my lord," the landlord said humbly; "and I will even add that I was liberally paid beforehand."
"In that case, what have you to say?"
"That I have done the best I could," Master Pivois replied in growing confusion.
"Ah! I suppose you mean that you have someone in the house?"
"Alas! yes, my lord," the landlord answered, hanging his head.
The traveller stamped his foot passionately.
"S'blood!" he exclaimed; then, at once resuming an apparent calmness, he continued, "Who are the persons?"
"There is only one."
"Ah!" said the traveller, with satisfaction, "If there be only one, nothing is more easy than to dislodge him."
"I fear not," the landlord ventured timidly, "for this traveller, who is a stranger to me, I swear, looks to me like a rude gentleman, and not at all inclined to surrender his place."
"Well, well, I will take it on myself," the traveller remarked carelessly, "where is he?"
"There, in the kitchen, my lord, warming himself at the fire."
"That will do; is the room ready?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Rejoin those gentlemen, and show them the way yourself; none of your people must know what takes place here."
The landlord, delighted at having got off so cheaply, bowed respectfully, and hastily retired in the direction of the garden; as for the traveller, after exchanging a few whispered words with a footman, who remained with him, he pulled his hat over his eyes, opened the door, and boldly entered the kitchen.
It was deserted: the stranger had disappeared.
The traveller looked anxiously around him; the waiting men, probably in obedience to orders previously received from their master, had withdrawn to their attics.
After a few seconds' hesitation, the traveller returned to the garden.
"Well," the landlord asked, "have you seen him, my lord?"
"No," he replied, "but it is of no consequence; not a word about him to the persons who accompany me; he has doubtless left, but if that be not the case, be careful that he does not approach the apartments you have reserved for us."
"Hum," the landlord muttered to himself, "all this is not clear;" and he withdrew very pensively.
Truth to tell, the worthy man was frightened. His new customers had unpleasant faces, and a rough manner, which reassured him but slightly; and then again he fancied he had seen alarming shadows gliding about among the trees in his garden, a fact which he had carefully avoided verifying, but which heightened his secret apprehensions.
Dame Tiphaine, torch in hand, was waiting at the house door, in readiness to light the travellers, and conduct them to their apartments. When the coach had been turned and stopped, one of the travellers went up to it, opened the door, and assisted a lady in getting out.
This lady, who was magnificently dressed, appeared to be suffering, and she walked with difficulty. Still, in spite of her weakness, she declined the arm of one of the travellers offered her in support, and approached Dame Tiphaine, who, compassionate like all
