large fireplace, while
around her at wooden tables sat the usual company of such places--men
drinking in groups or eating from platters which another woman brought
from the first and set before them. So he rode in under the great
gateway and called loudly for an hostler to come.

At his summons a man came forth who, seeing his soldier-like
appearance, asked if he desired to rest there for the night, and
stated at the same time that the inn was very full.

"That may be so," replied St. Georges, "yet, perhaps, not so full but
that a child can be sheltered here for one night. See, friend," he
continued, opening his cloak, "I bear one here who has been carried
far by me. Think you the hostess will give her protection? She needs a
good bed sorely."

As it always was--to the credit of humanity--the sight of the little
helpless thing sleeping on its father's arm roused this man's sympathy
as it had roused that of all others.

"_Ma foi!_" he said, stooping to gaze at it as it lay on that arm, "a
rude cradle for _la petite_. Yet--there is no hostess; the landlord's
wife is dead. And why--why--do you leave it? Why not stay yourself?"

"I have to present myself to the Marquise de Roquemaure at her manoir.
Where is that manoir? Heaven grant I have not passed it on the road!"

"Half a league outside the city--to the north, on the Paris road. If
you have come from the south, you have not passed it."

"So! It is from the south I come. Now, quick, can I leave the child
here--in safety?"

"I will see. Wait." And he went away toward the kitchen, leaving St.
Georges standing by his horse easing its saddle, and then holding a
bucket of water, which he had picked up, to its thirsty mouth with his
disengaged hand.

Presently the man came back, followed by one of the young women whom
St. Georges had seen waiting on the company--a dark girl with her arms
bare--a girl whose face looked kind and honest. And again with her, as
with the others, her heart went out to the little child in the great
man's arms. The sense of helplessness, of dependence on so unusual a
nurse, touched all those hearts, especially feminine ones.

Briefly as might be he explained to her what it was he required--a
night's shelter for and watchfulness over the child, he having to
visit the Manoir de Roquemaure. Also, he said, he would come back
early in the morning to fetch it away.

"If," said the girl, a little hesitatingly, for she was but a waitress
at the