"Very well," replied Jean Charost, and rode on.
The other kept by his side, however; for the tall and powerful horse which bore him seemed none the worse for the accident which had happened. Armand Chauvin and Martin Grille followed close upon their young leader, and the other five strangers brought up the rear.
The rest of the journey, of well-nigh two leagues, passed without accident, and the two foremost horsemen were gradually led into something like a general conversation, in which Jean Charost's new companion, though he could not be said to make himself agreeable, showed a great knowledge of the world, of life, of courts, of foreign countries; and displayed a somewhat rough but keen and trenchant wit, which led his young fellow-traveler to the conclusion that he was no common man. The last two miles of the journey were passed by moonlight, and Jean Charost had now an opportunity of distinguishing the personal appearance of his companion, which perhaps was more prepossessing than his speech. He was a man of the middle age, not very tall, but exceedingly broad across the chest and shoulders; and his face, without being handsome, had something fine and commanding in it. He rode his horse with more power than grace, managing him with an ease that seemed to leave the creature no will of his own, and every movement, indeed, displayed extraordinary personal vigor, joined with some dignity. His dress seemed rich and costly, though the colors were not easily distinguished. But the short mantle, with the long, furred sleeves, hanging down almost to his horse's belly, betokened at once, to a Frenchman of those days, the man of high degree.
Although the young secretary examined him certainly very closely, he did not return the scrutiny, but merely gave him a casual glance, as the moonlight fell upon him, and then continued his conversation till they entered the town of Pithiviers.
"To what inn do we go, Chauvin?" asked Jean Charost, as they passed in among the houses; but, before the other could answer, the stranger exclaimed, "Never mind--you shall come to my inn. I will entertain you--for to-night, at least. Indeed," he added, "there is but one inn in the place worthy of the name, and my people are in possession of it. We will find room for you and your men, however; and you shall sup with me--if you be noble, as I suppose."
"I am, sir," replied Jean Charost, and followed where the other led.
As they were entering the principal street, which was quiet and still enough, the stranger pulled up his horse, called up one of his followers, and spoke to him in a language which Jean Charost did not understand. Then turning to the young gentleman, he said, "Let us dismount. Here is a shorter way to the inn, on foot. Your men can go on with mine."
Jean Charost hesitated; but, unwilling to show doubt, he sprang from his horse's back, after a moment's consideration, gave the rein to Martin Grille, and walked on with his companion up a very narrow street, which seemed to lead round the back of the buildings before which they had just been passing.
The stranger walked slowly, and, as they advanced, he said, "May I know your name, young gentleman?"
"Jean Charost de Brecy," replied the duke's secretary; and, though he had a strong inclination, he refrained from asking the name of his companion in return. There was a something, he could not well tell what, that inspired respect about the stranger--a reverence without love; and the young secretary did not venture to ask any questions. A few moments after, a small house presented itself, built of stone, it is true, whereas the others had been mainly composed of wood; but still it was far too small and mean in appearance to accord with the idea which Jean Charost had formed of the principal auberge; of the good town of Pithiviers. At the door of this house, however, the elder gentleman stopped, as if about to enter. The door was opened almost at the same moment, as if on a preconcerted plan, and a man appeared with a torch in his hand.