evening and the brisk ride soon restored my spirits. I wished Pillot
had been with me, not alone for the sake of his company, but for his
help also. However, I was young and strong, and having a certain
amount of confidence in myself rode on cheerily enough.

On the third evening after leaving the chateau I arrived at Rheims,
passing into the town just before the closing of the gates. The
streets were filled with people who wore an air of excitement as if
something was going forward. A number of soldiers loitered about in
groups, but whether they were the King's friends or Conde's I could not
determine, as they wore no distinguishing colours.

Riding slowly down one of the less frequented streets, I discovered an
inn which had every appearance of being clean and comfortable.

"This is the place to suit me," I said half aloud, and was proceeding
to dismount, when I caught sight of a man staring hard in my direction
from the window of the opposite house, and while I was talking to the
ostler the stranger had run down and clapped me on the back in the
heartiest manner. He looked rather like a soldier of fortune who had
fallen on evil times. His finery was distinctly faded, but he carried
a good sword, and seemed capable of using it. His face was tanned by
exposure to the weather, both cheeks bore the marks of sword-cuts, and
there was a scar on his forehead just above the left eye. Altogether
he appeared a far from desirable acquaintance.

"Henri, my boy," he cried, giving me another tremendous thwack, "how
came you here? Ah, you are a sly rascal! Plotting more mischief, eh?
Well, well, you are safe for me, though I am for the King."

The speaker rattled on at such a rate that I could scarcely manage to
put in, "Pardon me, monsieur, but you have made a mistake."

"A mistake?" he exclaimed. "_Peste!_ I must be growing old. My
eyesight is failing. Aren't you Henri de Lalande? You are very much
like him. Ah, no, I perceive now you are younger. He is an old
friend, but we see little of each other. I am in the King's service
and he is a Frondeur. But in private life, you know, eh?" and he gave
me a vigorous dig in the ribs, following it up by saying, "Perhaps
monsieur is a relative?"

I cannot say what my answer would have been, but just then I received
another shock. A few yards farther along, standing well back against
the wall, was a little man, evidently endeavouring to attract my
attention. Dir