He was a man of perhaps thirty years, richly but quietly dressed,
wearing a sword, and carrying two pistols in his holsters. His dark
brown hair escaped over his forehead in short curls; his face was strong
and capable; he had good features, and a rounded chin. His eyes were
blue, deep, expressive, and beautiful as a woman's, and he had a most
engaging air of candour and sincerity. The horse he rode was a splendid
animal; my father had not its equal in his stables.

"This place of Etienne's," said he, addressing Jacques, "is it far?"

"Within a dozen miles, monsieur. You might easily have reached it last
night by pushing on."

"Had I been acquainted with the road! But it was late when I arrived at
the inn, and my horse had done a heavy's day work. You are a native of
the district, monsieur?" turning to me.

"If you make the district wide enough," I answered, with a laugh.

"You have escaped the ravages of war in these parts; you are fortunate.
One can ride here without loosening his sword."

"Yes," assented Jacques, "'tis a peaceful neighbourhood."

"A pity one cannot say the same of all France," replied the other with a
deep sigh, as if saddened at the mere thought of bloodshed; "and yet it
is whispered that the war is likely to break out again. Has the rumour
reached you down here?"

"We hear little news of the outside world," I replied.

"Excuse me, monsieur," exclaimed Jacques suddenly, "but it will suit us
to quicken the pace. We have pressing business to transact," to which
our chance acquaintance replied that he was quite willing to be guided
by our wishes.

Accordingly we broke into a canter, and for the next hour or so no sound
was heard save the beat of our horses' hoofs on the hard road. But
once, when the stranger had shot a few paces to the front--for as I have
said he rode a splendid animal--Jacques made me a swift sign that I
should be cautious.

CHAPTER II

Tracked, or Not?

"That is your road, monsieur. At the end of a mile a cross-road leads
straight to Etienne Cordel's dwelling. You will see the house from the
spot where the road branches. You will pardon us for our hasty
departure, but time presses. If you put up again at the inn, we may have
the pleasure of meeting you on our return."

Taking the cue from Jacques, who evidently did not intend holding a
prolonged conversation, I said: "Adieu, monsieur, and a pleasant ending
to your journey. You cannot mistake the way, now,"