ell, enter there!"

He dropped back among the pillows, striving to look careless, as Maitre
Menard, the landlord, opened the door and stood shuffling on the
threshold.

"Does M. le Comte sleep?" he asked me deferentially, though I think he
could not but have heard M. Etienne's tirading half-way down the
passage.

"Not yet," I answered. "What is it?"

"Why, a man came with a billet for M. le Comte and insisted it be sent
in. I told him Monsieur was not to be disturbed; he had been wounded and
was sleeping; I said it was not sense to wake him for a letter that
would keep till morning. But he would have it 'twas of instant import,
and so--"

"Oh, he is not asleep," I declared, eagerly ushering the maitre in, my
mind leaping to the conclusion, for no reason save my ardent wish, that
Vigo had discovered our whereabouts.

"I dared not deny him further," added Maitre Menard. "He wore the
liveries of M. de Mayenne."

"Of Mayenne," I echoed, thinking of what M. Etienne had said. "Pardieu,
it may be Lucas himself!" And snatching up my master's sword I dashed
out of the door and was in the cabaret in three steps.

The room contained some score of men, but I, peering about by the
uncertain candle-light, could find no one who in any wise resembled
Lucas. A young gamester seated near the door, whom my sudden entrance
had jostled, rose, demanding in the name of his outraged dignity to
cross swords with me. On any other day I had deemed it impossible to say
him nay, but now with a real vengeance, a quarrel a outrance on my
hands, he seemed of no consequence at all. I brushed him aside as I
demanded M. de Mayenne's man. They said he was gone. I ran out into the
dark court and the darker street.

A tapster, lounging in the courtyard, had seen my man pass out, and he
opined with much reason that I should not catch him. Yet I ran a hundred
yards up street and a hundred yards down street, shouting on the name of
Lucas, calling him coward and skulker, bidding him come forth and fight
me. The whole neighbourhood became aware than I wanted one Lucas to
fight: lights twinkled in windows; men, women, and children poured out
of doors. But Lucas, if it were he, had for the second time vanished
soft-footed into the night.

I returned with drooping tail to M. Etienne. He was alone, sitting up in
bed awaiting me, his cheeks scarlet, his eyes blazing.

"He is gone," I panted. "I looked everywhere, but he was gone. Oh, if I
caught Lucas-