"This one is plain enough," answered Martin Grille. "Nôtre Dame is not plainer. It is simply, sir, that the king has sent a certain sergeant of his, with a long troop of archers at his back, to arrest and bring you to his presence. He is now at Bourges, in the house of good Messire Jacques Cœur, which he fills tolerably well; and the distance not being very great from Bourges to Briare, you may expect our friend the sergeant every hour. It was late at night, however, when the order was given, and master sergeant vowed that he would have a nap first, king or no king. But, vowing I would have no nap, I came away at once; and so you have three good hours, and perhaps a few minutes more."
De Brecy mused, and then asked, "Do you know any motive for this order?"
"None at all," replied Martin Grille; "nor can I even guess. But I'll tell you all that happened, as I have it from one who saw all. There is one Jeanne de Vendôme about the court; they call her also Marquise De Mortaigne--"
"I have seen her," said Jean Charost. "What of her? Go on."
"Why, she has a nephew, sir, one Peter of Vendôme," replied Martin Grille, "whom she is very fond of; but he is an enemy of yours."
"I never even saw him," replied De Brecy.
"Well, sir, the king's mind is poisoned against you," said Martin Grille, "that is clear enough; and I know not what else to attribute it to. But, upon my word, you had better mount your horse and ride away. I can tell you the rest of the story as we go. I never was a very good horseman, and, if the sergeant rides better than I, he may be here before we are in the saddle."
"Well, be it so," said Jean Charost, thoughtfully. "Gather all those things together, while I go and reckon with my host. I would rather not be taken a prisoner into Bourges, and I think I will prevent it."
He spoke with a slight smile, and yet some bitterness of tone; but Martin Grille applied himself at once to pack up all that was in his master's room, and in about half an hour Jean Charost and his followers were in the saddle.
"Were it not better to take the road to Bussiere, my lord?" said Martin Grille, who rode somewhat near his master's person. "It seems to me as if you were going toward Oussin."