aston de Luynes!" he ejaculated, seizing my hand in an
affectionate grip. "But how have you fared since Rocroi was fought? For
a soldier of such promise, one might have predicted great things in ten
years."

"Helas, Monsieur! I was dismissed the service after Senlac."

"Dismissed the service!"

"Pah!" I laughed, not without bitterness, "'t is a long story and an
ugly one, divided 'twixt the dice-box, the bottle, and the scabbard. Ten
years ago I was a promising young captain, ardent and ambitious; to-day
I am a broken ruffler, unrecognised by my family--a man without hope,
without ambition, almost without honour."

I know not what it was that impelled me to speak thus. Haply the wish
that since he must soon learn to what depths Gaston de Luynes had sunk,
he should at least learn it from my own lips at the outset.

He shuddered at my concluding words, and had not Andrea at that moment
put his arm affectionately upon my shoulder, and declared me the bravest
fellow and truest friend in all the world, it is possible that the
Chevalier de Canaples would have sought an excuse to be rid of me. Such
men as he seek not the acquaintance of such men as I.

To please Andrea was, however, of chief importance in his plans, and
to that motive I owe it that he pressed me to remain a guest at the
chateau. I declined the honour with the best grace I could command,
determined that whilst Andrea remained at Canaples I would lodge at the
Lys de France in Blois, independent and free to come or go as my fancy
bade me. His invitation that I should at least dine at Canaples I
accepted; but with the condition that he should repeat his invitation
after he had heard something that I wished to tell him. He assented with
a puzzled look, and when presently Andrea repaired to his apartments,
and we were alone, I began.

"You have doubtlessly received news, Monsieur, of a certain affair in
which your son had recently the misfortune to be dangerously wounded?"

We were standing by the great marble fireplace, and Canaples was resting
one of his feet upon the huge brass andirons. He made a gesture of
impatience as I spoke.

"My son, sir, is a fool! A good-for-nothing fool! Oh, I have heard of
this affair, a vulgar tavern brawl, the fifth in which his name has been
involved and besmirched. I had news this morning by a courier dispatched
me by my friend St. Simon, who imagines that I am deeply concerned in
that young profligate. I learn that he is