u care not to
take the warning yourself, give it to others. I myself will warn those
of your faith who meet to-night in the Rue des Mathurins. There may be
others you know of; give them at least a chance. As for yourself, you
have had yours."

What answer he would have made I know not, but at this moment a sharp
voice cut in upon us.

"_Eh bien_, Monsieur de Ganache! but it seems to me that Madame de
Valentinois signals to you from the window yonder."

There was a little rustling in the bushes, and Le Brusquet stepped out,
his ape perched upon his shoulder.

"Behold!" he said, "the crescent moon is already out." And he pointed
to a window overlooking the lawn, where a group of ladies stood
watching us.

"It must be to you, Monsieur le Vicomte, that madame signals," Le
Brusquet went on. "Orrain here is too ugly, and as for me, she loves
me no better than my ape."

With an oath De Ganache pushed past Le Brusquet and hurried across the
lawn, leaving us staring after him.

"He had his warning," said Le Brusquet. "I heard every word, and
thought it was time to step in ere he drew his poniard. The man is
mad! But what is this?" And stepping towards the seat he picked up
the small packet of letters that De Ganache was reading.

"They belong to De Ganache," I said; "he was reading them as I came up."

"In that case I will return them to monsieur with my own hands." And
Le Brusquet slipped the packet into his pocket. Then turning he took
me by the arm and led me off, telling me some absurd story, and
laughing loudly, until we had passed out of sight of the windows. Then
he stopped.

"Do not forget this," he said: "the fifth house on the right-hand side
of the Rue des Mathurins as you enter from the Rue St. Jacques."

"Thanks; I will not forget. However did you find out?"

"It is too long to tell, and I must return these papers to De Ganache."

So saying, he went off.

CHAPTER XXVI

THE CHURCH UNDER THE GROUND

The wicket gate near the riding-school was used almost exclusively by
the servants of the palace, to whom it gave access to that maze of
nameless streets, dingy, tumble-down houses, and squalid shops that was
known as the Magasins. Here it was that the waiting-woman and the
lackey stole forth to meet their lovers. Through this filtered all the
backstairs' gossip of the Louvre, and more besides, for the small
shopkeepers of the Magasins upheld a reputation as evil as the place in
w