arou, the armourer's, store. There was no one there
except the old proprietor himself, and it was hard to say if he were
Jew or Gentile as he stood behind the counter in the midst of his
wares. I had sufficient excuse for my visit, and that was to purchase
a breastplate of the pattern worn by the Queen's guards, in which I had
been formally enrolled early in the day.

"_Bien_!" he said when I inquired for one, "I have one that will fit
you, I think. It was bespoke by M. de Montorgueil----"

"But, perhaps, monsieur may have a voice in the matter."

"Probably; but as monsieur has not paid for it, and is at present
lodged in the Chatelet on account of his escapade with Mademoiselle
d'Estanay, we may let that objection pass." And Maitre Barou chuckled.

"In that case, let me see the corselet."

"Here it is, monsieur."

I tried it on, and finding it would suit, and that the workmanship was
of rare excellency, demanded the price.

Barou hummed as he tapped the shining steel with his finger and glanced
at me from under his bushy brows.

"Monsieur must have but lately joined the guards?" he asked, ignoring
my question.

"A matter of a few hours."

"Ah! I thought so. I know them all, monsieur. First there is Messire
Blaise de Lorgnac, the lieutenant----"

"Maitre Barou, it will take till to-morrow to go over the names. What
is your price?"

"Ho! ho! messire, you grow impatient. 'Tis Aranguez plate this, as you
may see--the best work of Spain, down to the buckles. Ho! ho! messire,
only two good things ever came from Spain: one is good armour, and the
other pretty women----"

"And I presume, Maitre Barou, they are both expensive things; but the
price of your corselet, for my time is short."

"Fifty pistoles, then."

"'Tis a long sum, and I am not sure of the proof."

Maitre Barou looked at me reproachfully. Seizing a poniard he glanced
at the blade for a moment, touched the point with the tip of his
finger, and then raising the weapon brought it down with his full force
on the corselet. The dagger glanced off from the mirror-like surface
and buried itself deep in the hard wood of the counter.

"There, monsieur!" And Barou looked at me triumphantly. It was a
shrewd enough test, and I closed the bargain, paying him his money then
and there, and bidding him send the mail to De Lorgnac's house.

"And the name, monsieur?"

"The Chevalier d'Orrain."

As Barou was making an entry on a slate I heard