e and head, and resumed his wig.

When d'Aubran entered, the Seneschal was composed and in his wonted
habit of ponderous dignity. "Ah, d'Aubran," said he, "your men are
ready?"

"They have been ready these four-and-twenty hours, monsieur."

"Good. You are a brisk soldier, d'Aubran. You are a man to be relied
upon."

D'Aubran bowed. He was a tall, active young fellow with a pleasant face
and a pair of fine black eyes.

"Monsieur le Seneschal is very good."

With a wave of the hand the Seneschal belittled his own goodness.

"You will march out of Grenoble within the hour, Captain, and you will
lead your men to Montelimar. There you will quarter them, and await
my further orders. Babylas will give you a letter to the authorities,
charging them to find you suitable quarters. While there, d'Aubran, and
until my further orders reach you, you will employ your time in probing
the feeling in the hill district. You understand?"

"Imperfectly," d'Aubran confessed.

"You will understand better when you have been in Montelimar a week or
so. It may, of course, be a false alarm. Still, we must safeguard the
King's interests and be prepared. Perhaps we may afterwards be charged
with starting at shadows; but it is better to be on the alert from the
moment the shadow is perceived than to wait until the substance itself
has overwhelmed us."

It sounded so very much as if the Seneschal's words really had some
hidden meaning, that d'Aubran, if not content with going upon an errand
of which he knew so little, was, at least, reconciled to obey the orders
he received. He uttered words that conveyed some such idea to Tressan's
mind, and within a half-hour he was marching out of Grenoble with
beating drums, on his two days' journey to Montelimar.

CHAPTER IV. THE CHATEAU DE CONDILLAC

As Captain d'Aubran and his troop were speeding westwards from Grenoble,
Monsieur de Garnache, ever attended by his man, rode briskly in the
opposite direction, towards the grey towers of Condillac, that reared
themselves towards the greyer sky above the valley of the Isere. It was
a chill, dull, autumnal day, with a raw wind blowing from the Alps; its
breath was damp, and foretold of the rain that was likely to come anon,
the rain with which the clouds hanging low about the distant hills were
pregnant.

But Monsieur de Garnache was totally insensible to his surroundings; his
mind was very busy with the interview from which he had come, and