a man of any sort but is a red-hot Orleanist,
anti-Cardinalist, and friend of the Devil. Bethink you, monseigneur, to
push on at the present is to court murder."

"Why, then, we will court murder," said I coldly. "Give the word to
saddle."

I asked him at the moment of setting out did he know the road to
Lavedan, to which the lying poltroon made answer that he did. In his
youth he may have known it, and the countryside may have undergone since
then such changes as bewildered him. Or it may be that fear dulled his
wits, and lured him into taking what may have seemed the safer rather
than the likelier road. But this I know, that as night was falling
my carriage halted with a lurch, and as I put forth my head I was
confronted by my trembling intendant, his great fat face gleaming
whitely in the gloom above the lawn collar on his doublet.

"Why do we halt, Ganymede?" quoth I.

"Monseigneur," he faltered, his trembling increasing as he spoke, and
his eyes meeting mine in a look of pitiful contrition, "I fear we are
lost."

"Lost?" I echoed. "Of what do you talk? Am I to sleep in the coach?"

"Alas, monseigneur, I have done my best--"

"Why, then, God keep us from your worst," I snapped. "Open me this
door."

I stepped down and looked about me, and, by my faith, a more desolate
spot to lose us in my henchman could not have contrived had he been at
pains to do so. A bleak, barren landscape--such as I could hardly have
credited was to be found in all that fair province--unfolded itself,
looking now more bleak, perhaps, by virtue of the dim evening mist that
hovered over it. Yonder, to the right, a dull russet patch of sky marked
the west, and then in front of us I made out the hazy outline of the
Pyrenees. At sight of them, I swung round and gripped my henchman by the
shoulder.

"A fine trusty servant thou!" I cried. "Boaster! Had you told us that
age and fat living had so stunted your wits as to have extinguished
memory, I had taken a guide at Montauban to show us the way. Yet,
here, with the sun and the Pyrenees to guide you, even had you no other
knowledge, you lose yourself!"

"Monseigneur," he whimpered, "I was choosing my way by the sun and the
mountains, and it was thus that I came to this impasse. For you may see,
yourself, that the road ends here abruptly."

"Ganymede," said I slowly, "when we return to Paris--if you do not
die of fright 'twixt this and then--I'll find a place for you in the
kitchens. G