oo cowardly to meet my cousin in open
fight. Since he got the challenge he has never stuck his nose out of
doors without two or three of the duke's guard about him. Therefore we
have the right to get at him as we can. We have paid a man in the house
to tell of his movements. He is to fare out secretly at night on a
mission for M. le Duc, with one comrade only. M. Gervais and I will
interrupt that little journey."

"Very good, monsieur. And I?"

"You will meet our spy and learn the hour of the expedition. Last night,
when he told us of the plan, it had not been decided."

"Then he will be the other man I saw in the window? I shall know him."

"You have sharp eyes and a sharp brain, youngster. But he will not know
you. Therefore you can say you come from the shuttered house in the Rue
Coupejarrets. You will meet him in the little alley to the north of the
Hotel St. Quentin. Do you know your way to the hotel? Well, then, you
are to go down the passageway between the house and M. de Portreuse's
garden--you cannot mistake it, for on two sides of the house is the
street, on the third the garden, and on the fourth the alleyway.
Half-way down the alley is an arch with a small door. In that arch our
man, Louis Martin, will meet you. Do you understand?"

I repeated the directions.

"You have learned your lesson. You will ask him the hour--only that."

"And you will take oath not to betray us," commanded Gervais.

I took out the cross that hung on my rosary. I was ready to swear.
Gervais prompted:

"I swear to go and come straight, and speak no word to any but Martin."

With all solemnity I swore it on my cross.

"That oath will be kept," said Yeux-gris. He held out a sudden hand for
the cross, which I gave him, wondering.

"I swear that we mean no harm whatsoever to the Duke of St. Quentin." He
kissed the cross and flung the chain back over my neck.

At last I saw the door unlocked. Yeux-gris even returned to me my knife.

"Au revoir, messieurs."

Gervais, sullen to the last, vouchsafed no answer, but Yeux-gris called
out cheerily, "Au revoir."

VI

_A matter of life and death._

Nothing in life can be so sweet as freedom after captivity, safety after
danger. When I gained the open street once more and breathed the open
air, no one molesting or troubling me, I could have sung with joy. I
fairly hugged myself for my cleverness in getting out of my plight. As
for the combat I was furthering, my only do