rting the towns. You
can thus reach Orleans by daybreak."

"But the horse?" said young Lecamus.

"He will not give out till you reach Orleans," replied La Renaudie.
"Leave him at the entrance of the faubourg Bannier; for the gates are
well guarded, and you must not excite suspicion. It is for you, friend,
to play your part intelligently. You must invent whatever fable seems
to you best to reach the third house to the left on entering Orleans; it
belongs to a certain Tourillon, glove-maker. Strike three blows on the
door, and call out: 'On service from Messieurs de Guise!' The man will
appear to be a rabid Guisist; no one knows but our four selves that he
is one of us. He will give you a faithful boatman,--another Guisist of
his own cut. Go down at once to the wharf, and embark in a boat painted
green and edged with white. You will doubtless land at Beaugency
to-morrow about mid-day. There I will arrange to find you a boat which
will take you to Blois without running any risk. Our enemies the Guises
do not watch the rivers, only the landings. Thus you will be able to see
the queen-mother to-morrow or the day after."

"Your words are written there," said Christophe, touching his forehead.

Chaudieu embraced his child with singular religious effusion; he was
proud of him.

"God keep thee!" he said, pointing to the ruddy light of the sinking
sun, which was touching the old roofs covered with shingles and sending
its gleams slantwise through the forest of piles among which the water
was rippling.

"You belong to the race of the Jacques Bonhomme," said La Renaudie,
pressing Christophe's hand.

"We shall meet again, _monsieur_," said the prince, with a gesture
of infinite grace, in which there was something that seemed almost
friendship.

With a stroke of his oars La Renaudie put the boat at the lower step
of the stairway which led to the house. Christophe landed, and the boat
disappeared instantly beneath the arches of the pont au Change.

II. THE BURGHERS

Christophe shook the iron railing which closed the stairway on the
river, and called. His mother heard him, opened one of the windows of
the back shop, and asked what he was doing there. Christophe answered
that he was cold and wanted to get in.

"Ha! my master," said the Burgundian maid, "you went out by the
street-door, and you return by the water-gate. Your father will be fine
and angry."

Christophe, bewildered by a confidence which had just broug