"Why bless you, sir," replied the lackey, "when I saw you carried off by a man I knew nothing about, and found myself in an inn where not even the landlord would tell who his guests were, I got frightened, and as it is a part of my business to know every thing that may be of service to you, I bethought me how I might best get information. As every town in France has its astrologer, either official or accidental, I determined I would find him out, and I seduced one of the marmitons; to show me the way hither for a bribe of two sous. Very little had I in my pocket to consult an astrologer with; but we Parisians have a way of bartering one piece of news for another; and as information regarding every body and every thing is what an astrologer is always in search of, I trucked the tidings of your arrival at the auberge; for the name of the great man whose servants had possession of the inn. That frightened me still more; but the learned doctor bought an account of all that had happened to us on the road with a leathern bottle of the finest wine that was ever squeezed out of the grape, and added over and above, that Madame de Giac, the duke's mistress, was expected at the inn, and had sent her husband away to Blois. That frightened me more than ever."
"Why so?" asked Jean Charost. "Why should you be frightened by any of these things you heard? Their highnesses of Burgundy and Orleans are now in perfect amity I understand, and Madame de Giac, when I saw her before, seemed any thing but ill disposed toward my royal master."
"Ah! sir," replied Martin Grille; "the amity of princes is a ticklish thing to trust to; and the friendship of a lady of many loves is somewhat like the affection of a spider. God send that the Duke of Burgundy be as well disposed to the royal duke as you think, and that Madame de Giac work no mischief between them; for the one, I think, is as sincere as the other, and I would not trust my little finger in the power of either, if it served their purpose to cut it off."
"Nay," answered Jean Charost; "I certainly do not now think that the Duke of Burgundy is well disposed to his highness of Orleans; for I have had good reason to believe the contrary."
"There is no one believes he is, but the duke himself," said Armand Chauvin. "His highness is too frank. He rides out in a furred gown to meet a man armed with all pieces. But hark! how that man is walking about! He must be troubled with some unquiet spirit."
All listened in silence for a moment or two, and a slow, heavy footfall was heard pacing backward and forward in the adjoining room, from which the hall was only separated by one of the doors that has been mentioned. Jean Charost thought that he heard a groan too, and there was something in the dull and solemn tread, unceasing and unvaried as it was, that had a gloomy and oppressive effect.
No one spoke for several minutes, and the time of the astrologer's return seemed long; but at length the steps in the adjoining room ceased, the door was thrown open, and a low, deep voice exclaimed, "If you have returned, why do you keep me waiting? Ha! strangers all!"
The speaker, who had taken one step into the room, was, as the maid had described him, a tall, thin, gaunt man, of the middle age, with a stern, wild, impetuous expression of countenance. His gray hair and his gray beard seemed not to have been trimmed for weeks, and his apparel, though costly, was negligently cast on. There was a wrinkle between his brows, so deep that one might have laid a finger in it, fixed and immovable, as if it had grown there for years, deepening with time. But the brow, with its heavy frown, seemed the only feature that remained at rest; for the eye flashed and wandered, the lip quivered, and the nostrils expanded, as if there were an infinite multitude of emotions passing ever through the heart, and writing their transient traces oil the countenance as they went.
He paused for a single moment, almost in the doorway, holding a lamp high in his hand, and glancing his eyes from the face of Martin Grille, who was next to him, to that of Armand Chauvin, and then to the countenance of Jean Charost. As he gazed at the latter, however, a look of doubt, and then of recognition, came upon his countenance, and taking another step forward, he exclaimed, "Ha! young man; is that you? Something strange links our destiny together. I came hither to inquire of Fate concerning you; and here you are, to meet me."
"I am glad to see you without your late companions, sir," replied Jean Charost. "I feared you might be in some peril."