its there. Where he comes from, of
what he does when he is elsewhere, I cannot tell. He is at the chateau
now, I believe."

"Why did you call him the red Captain?"

"The people have given him that name. He has a great red splash down one
side of his face. They say it was caused by a burn."

"Received in the wars, perhaps."

"No doubt. He has fought under many banners, it is said. Some declare he
still keeps his company together, always ready for the highest bidder;
but if that's true, I don't know where he keeps it, or how he does so
without a loss when not at the wars. It is true, he brings a suite of
sturdy fellows when he comes to Lavardin; but not enough to make what
you would call a company."

"Perhaps he has made his fortune and retired."

"He's not an old man, Monsieur, though he is the friend of the Count. He
is at the prime of life, I should say. A tall, strong man. He would be
handsome but for the red stamp on his face. He has great influence over
the Count. They drink, hunt, and play together. In many ways they are
alike. The red Captain, too, has a smile that some people are afraid of,
and a laugh that is merciless, but they are broad and bold, if you can
understand what I mean,--not like the wily chuckle of the Count. He has
big, ferocious eyes, too; while the Count's are small and half-closed.
If people will fear those two men because of their looks, I can't for my
life say which is to be feared the more."

"A pleasant pair for anybody to come in conflict with," said I, as
lightly as I could.

"Yes, Monsieur, and seeing that strangers are so unwelcome there, you
will do well to pass by the Chateau de Lavardin without stopping to
exchange compliments." With a jocular smile, the innkeeper went about
his business, while I finished my dinner with a mind full of misgivings.

I rose from the table, left the inn, and walked back, by the straight
road of half a league, to Lavardin, pondering on the problem before me.
It was a natural feeling that I might come by an inspiration more
probably in the presence of the chateau than away from it. There was a
little cabaret in the village, in full sight of the chateau gates, and
just far enough back from the road to give room for two small tables in
front. At one of these tables a man was already sitting, so I took
possession of the other and called for a bottle of wine. I then sat
there, slowly sipping, with my eyes on the chateau, hoping that by
contemplation