King in connection with this
pretty gentleman, and not only shall we find him a dungeon deep and
dank, but we shall see that he disgorges his blood-money."

"If you can prove his treason you will be doing blessed work," returned
Castelroux. "Until tomorrow, then, for here is the Hotel de l'Epee."

From the broad doorway of an imposing building a warm glow of light
issued out and spread itself fanwise across the ill-paved street.
In this--like bats about a lamp--flitted the black figures of gaping
urchins and other stragglers, and into this I now passed, having taken
leave of my companions.

I mounted the steps and I was about to cross the threshold, when
suddenly above a burst of laughter that greeted my ears I caught the
sound of a singularly familiar voice. This seemed raised at present to
address such company as might be within. One moment of doubt had I--for
it was a month since last I had heard those soft, unctuous accents.
Then I was assured that the voice I heard was, indeed, the voice of
my steward Ganymede. Castelroux's messenger had found him at last, it
seemed, and had brought him to Toulouse.

I was moved to spring into the room and greet that old retainer for
whom, despite the gross and sensuous ways that with advancing years were
claiming him more and more, I had a deep attachment. But even as I was
on the point of entering, not only his voice, but the very words that
he was uttering floated out to my ears, and they were of a quality that
held me there to play the hidden listener for the second time in my life
in one and the same day.

CHAPTER XVII. THE BABBLING OF GANYMEDE

Never until that hour, as I stood in the porch of the Hotel de l'Epee,
hearkening to my henchman's narrative and to the bursts of laughter
which ever and anon it provoked from his numerous listeners, had I
dreamed of the raconteur talents which Rodenard might boast. Yet was
I very far from being appreciative now that I discovered them, for the
story that he told was of how one Marcel Saint-Pol, Marquis de Bardelys,
had laid a wager with the Comte de Chatellerault that he would woo and
win Mademoiselle de Lavedan to wife within three months. Nor did he
stop there. Rodenard, it would seem, was well informed; he had drawn
all knowledge of the state of things from Castelroux's messenger, and
later--I know not from whom--at Toulouse, since his arrival.

He regaled the company, therefore, with a recital of our finding the
dyi