e town,
and the various men with whom I would be thrown.

"Beyond all," and in this I afterward acknowledged his foresight, "do not
neglect the women, for their hands now wield the real power in France."

I must own I thought more on the nature of my new errand than on what he
was saying. I felt no small degree of distrust, yet, for my honor's
sake, kept it to myself.

"And when shall I set out for Paris?" I asked.

"To-day; at once. Le Dauphin has already lain four days at anchorage,
and we know for a surety that the expected spy has come. We can not act
too promptly."

And so it came about that I left within the hour.

A carriage had been made ready, and I bade Serigny good-bye in his own
rooms. He feared our being seen together too frequently about the palace.

"But one other thing, my lad," he stopped me as I would go, "you must
need have other garb than that. Your harness of the wilderness but ill
befits a gay gallant in Paris--for such you must now appear. You visit
the capital to see the sights, understand; a country gentleman--Greville
will instruct you, the rascal has naturally a turn for intrigue and
masquerading. A dress like yours would mark you apart from the throng
and perchance draw upon you the scathe of idle tongue. Here is gold to
array yourself as becomes a well-to-do gentleman, and gold to spend at
wine and on the games withal--for, thank Providence, the ancient House of
Lemoyne is not yet bankrupt."

I fain would not take his proffered coins, but he urged them upon me with
such insistency that I, seeing the good sense of doing as I was bid,
placed them in my meager purse, and with a light heart I set out upon my
doubtful journey.

The fear of which I spoke died away, for since our success with the King,
my spirits rose, and I deemed all things possible. Besides, was I not in
the personal service of my beloved commander who never knew a fear?

* * * * * *

The postilion whipped up his horses, and we turned towards the old city
of Paris, that treasure-house of varied fortunes whence every man might
draw his lot--of poverty or riches, of fame or obscurity, of happiness or
misery--as chance and strength directs.

CHAPTER VII

AT THE AUSTRIAN ARMS

It was well into the night when the first dim lights of Paris came into
view, and perhaps some two good hours afterwards before we drew up in
front of the "Austrian Arms."

It was not a new or pr