gate on foot with
his three followers.

"An arrest!" exclaimed my unknown companion, and the words brought the
two others from their kid, which they were just sitting down to
demolish, to the door, where they were joined by the landlady and the
turnspit dog.

The worst suspicions crowded upon me, and from where I sat I watched
Simon anxiously, for all depended on his object in being here. He took
no notice of the little group observing him, however, but, drawing his
men up against the wall, leaned against a buttress, moodily pulling at
his long moustache.

"We are going to see pretty things," said the hostess; "that tall
crookback is the Vidame d'Orrain himself, and 'twas just the same way
last year that he took poor Monsieur de Mailly."

For about ten minutes we waited impatiently, but with no result, and so
the owners of the kid went back to their repast, and the man with the
lentil soup called for another basin. The suspense, however, was not
to be for long. Presently a man came down the walk towards the wicket,
coming slowly, keeping as much as possible in the shadow of the trees,
now and again stopping and looking around him as though he feared being
followed. Finally, as he neared the gate, he put a bold face on the
matter, and with an air of unconcern stepped towards the sentry. His
hat was pulled over his eyes; but there was no mistaking De Ganache,
and I watched with breathless interest. As he came up the arquebusier
began to whistle his eternal "Rappel d'Aunis" once more, and the
figures near the wall closed in around the buttress. In five paces De
Ganache had passed the sentry and was at the gate. In another step he
freed the wicket, and came face to face with the Vidame. De Ganache
started, retreated a half pace, and then, recovering himself, said with
affected gaiety:

"Well met, Orrain! I----" And then he stopped as he met the Vidame's
sombre look and saw drawn swords on either side of him.

"Is this a jest or an outrage? What does this mean, monsieur?" And,
hand to his sword, he faced Simon, who answered coldly:

"It means, monsieur, that you are my prisoner. Your sword, in the
King's name!"

"I! Arrested! It is impossible! What foolery is this?"

But the Vidame simply held out a paper. "You may read this if you
doubt."

Almost mechanically De Ganache took the paper and ran his eyes over it.
As he did so his fingers seemed to lose power, for the paper slipped
from his hand