him since."

"But you can guess where he is to be found?"

"Indeed, I have not the least notion, monsieur," and the bland smile
became still more bland, "but as to the rumour of your cousin's death I
would fain hope that it is not true."

Remembering the nature of my last visit with Mazarin to this house, I
placed small faith in Martin's remarks, but as it was clearly
impossible to obtain any further information I took my leave, resolving
to discover for myself what really had become of Henri. Raoul joined
me in the search, but for a long time our efforts were fruitless. It
became, indeed, difficult not to believe in my cousin's death. Many
even of Conde's friends accepted the report as true, while the Abbe's
henchmen openly mourned the loss of their brilliant leader. Still I
was not entirely satisfied, especially as no trace could be found of
Pillot.

During one of our expeditions we came across Pierre and Francois, the
one grim and hostile, the other smiling and communicative.

"Monsieur is right," replied Francois in answer to my questioning, "M.
de Lalande did leave the astrologer's house; I helped to carry him. He
was ill--dying, I think. We took him to a safe place. Pillot stayed
to nurse him and I left them. He instructed me to go because the
soldiers were watching."

"Could you show us this house?" I asked.

"Monsieur would have his journey in vain. M. de Lalande is not there
now. Pillot took him, or his dead body, away in a carriage."

"Where is Pillot now?"

"Ah! monsieur asks a question! Perhaps he is dead too! I have not
seen him since."

For a moderate consideration Francois agreed to point out the haunts
which his former ally had been in the habit of frequenting. Such dens
of vice and misery, where crime, starvation, and disease went hand in
hand, I had never beheld. I wondered how any one could live in such
noisome places even for a day. The sufferings of the people were
terrible; a dreadful pestilence mowed them down in scores. Small
marvel that a clever agitator like De Retz could obtain hundreds of
willing tools ready for any act of bloodshed and violence.

Always hungry, always in filth and rags, scarred and disfigured by
disease, their numbers decimated many times over by an ever-present
plague, what could they know of the sanctity of life? Death walked and
talked with them continually; a familiar guest, eating and drinking by
their side like a trusty comrade--feared b