ch thoughts in my breast I turned the corner of the Rue de
St. Denys and came at once upon the Bleeding Heart, a small but
decent-looking hostelry situate near the end of the street and opposite
a church. A bluff grey-haired man, who was standing in the doorway, came
forward as we halted, and looking curiously at mademoiselle asked what I
lacked; adding civilly that the house was full and they had no sleeping
room, the late events having drawn a great assemblage to Blois.

'I want only an address,' I answered, leaning from the saddle and
speaking in a low voice that I might not be overheard by the passers-by.
'The Baron de Rosny is in Blois, is he not?'

The man started at the name of the Huguenot leader, and looked round him
nervously. But, seeing that no one was very near us, he answered: 'He
was, sir; but he left town a week ago and more. 'There have been strange
doings here, and M. de Rosny thought that the climate suited him ill.'

He said this with so much meaning, as well as concern that he should not
be overheard, that, though I was taken aback and bitterly disappointed,
I succeeded in restraining all exclamations and even show of feeling.
After a pause of dismay, I asked whither M. de Rosny had gone.

'To Rosny,' was the answer.

'And Rosny?'

'Is beyond Chartres, pretty well all the way to Mantes,' the man
answered, stroking my horse's neck. 'Say thirty leagues.'

I turned my horse, and hurriedly communicated what he said to
mademoiselle, who was waiting a few paces away. Unwelcome to me, the
news was still less welcome to her. Her chagrin and indignation knew no
bounds. For a moment words failed her, but her flashing eyes said more
than her tongue as she cried to me: 'Well, sir, and what now? Is this
the end of your fine promises? Where is your Rosny, if all be not a
lying invention of your own?'

Feeling that she had some excuse I suppressed my choler, and humbly
repeating that Rosny was at his house, two days farther on, and that I
could see nothing for it but to go to him, I asked the landlord where we
could find a lodging for the night.

'Indeed, sir, that is more than I can say,' he answered, looking
curiously at us, and thinking, I doubt not, that with my shabby cloak
and fine horse, and mademoiselle's mask and spattered riding-coat,
we were an odd couple. 'There is not an inn which is not full to the
garrets--nay, and the stables; and, what is more, people are chary of
taking strangers in. Th