first thing my lord did, still in the shadow of the prison, was to
come to terms with d'Auvray.

"See here, my friend, why must you put yourself to the fatigue of
escorting me to the gate?"

"Orders, monsieur. The general-duke wants to know that you get into no
mischief between here and the gate. You are banished, you understand,
from Paris."

"I pledge you my word I shall make no attempt to elude my fate. I go
straight to the gate. But, with all politeness to you, Sir Musketeer, I
could dispense with your company."

"I am a soldier, and a soldier's orders must be obeyed," d'Auvray quoted
the keeper's words, which seemed to have impressed him. "However, M. le
Comte, if I had something to look at, I could walk ten paces behind you
and look at it."

"Oh, if it is a question of something to play with!" M. Etienne laughed.

D'Auvray was provided with toys, and M. Etienne linked arms with me, the
soldier out of ear-shot behind us. He followed till we were in the Rue
St. Denis, when, waving his hand in farewell, he turned his steps with
the pious consciousness of duty done. Only I looked back to see it;
monsieur had forgotten his existence.

"I am not proud; I don't mind being marched through the streets by a
musketeer," M. Etienne explained as we started; "but I can't talk before
him. Tell me, Felix, the story, if you would have me live."

And I told him, till we almost ran blindly into the tower of the St.
Denis gate.

We learned of the warder that M. de St. Quentin had recently passed out,
but that nothing had been seen of his equery. No steeds were here for
us.

"Well, then, we'll go have a glass. But if Vigo doesn't come soon, by my
faith, I'll walk to St. Denis!"

But that promised glass was never drunk, nor were we to set out at once
for St. Denis; for in the door of the wine-shop we met Lucas.

I had dismissed him from thought, as something out of the reckoning,
dead and done with, powerless as yesterday's broken sword. I thought him
gone out of our lives when he went out of prison--gone forever, like
last year's snow. And here within the hour we encountered him, a naked
sword in his hand, a smile on his lips. He said, in the flower of his
easy insolence:

"Tuesday I told you our hour would come. It is here."

"At your service," quoth my lord.

"Then it needs not to slap your face?"

"You insult me safely, Lucas. You have but one life. That is forfeit, be
you courteous."

"You think so?"

"I k