“What is it, monsieur?” asked a voice from the darkness within.
“Is this the road to Versailles?” I questioned.
“No, monsieur,” answered the voice, without hesitation; “you doubtless took the wrong road at the forks a mile back. Return there, monsieur, and take the right-hand road. Follow it straight ahead and it will lead you to Versailles.”
“Many thanks,” I answered, and turned my horse’s head. As I did so, I heard the click of a pistol within the room.
“Who goes to Versailles at this hour and for what?” cried another voice, which I seemed to recognize and yet could not place. “Hold, monsieur,” it continued; “do not move. I have you covered with my pistol and I never miss.”
There was a note of braggartry in the voice which refreshed my memory.
“Ah, it is Cartouche,” I said. “I wish you good-evening, monsieur.”
“And who may you be?” he asked. “You have the best of me, monsieur?”
“Doubtless,” I laughed. “You meet so many people, and usually in the dark. But you may, perhaps, remember an encounter some nights back with a man who was lost in Paris, and who was saved from your rascals only by the timely arrival of the Duc de Richelieu.”
“By my soul, yes,” he answered. “I have cause to remember it, since I lost three sturdy rogues. Are you that man?”