"No, no, no," answered Pierrot: "the Papists may have the upper hand in most of them, it is true; but stop a bit, and I'll tell you all clearly. Your long pistol half sobered me; and when I can get to a spring and put my head in, that will wash out the rest of the brandy. It is of no use giving you a muddled tale."
"Take care you do not make one up," answered Master Ned. "I shall find you out in five minutes."
Pierrot laughed. "I'd as soon try to cheat the devil," he said. "But let us ride on. There is a well just where the roads cross, and it will serve my turn. Brandy is a fine thing, but a mighty poor counsellor."
The lad followed the suggestion, for he did not wish to give his companion too much time to think, and, urging their horses on, in about five minutes they reached the spot where two highways crossed, and where a large stone trough received the waters of a beautiful and plentiful spring, affording solace to many a weary and thirsty horse in those days of saddle-travelling. There Pierrot dismounted, slowly and deliberately, for he could not precisely ascertain to what extent he retained a balancing power till his feet touched the ground. With more directness of purpose, however, than could have been expected, he made his way to the trough, and, kneeling down, plunged his head once or twice into the cool water. He then rose, with his long rugged black hair still streaming; and, after the horses had been suffered to drink, the two travellers resumed their way. The moon by this time had completely scattered the clouds; glimpses of dark-blue sky appeared between the broken masses, and the keen eye of the young lad could mark every change in the expression of Pierrot's face as he went on.
"Now, Master Ned," he said, "I think my noddle has got clear enough of the fumes to let you know something of what people have been about here, which you do not know rightly, I can see. Rochelle is going to be taken by the Catholics: that's clear to me."
"Unless the great Duke of Buckingham drive the Catholics beyond the Loire, it must be taken," answered the lad. "You can never stand against all France. But what makes you give up hope, Pierrot?"
"First, the King of France, and his devil of a Cardinal, are drawing together a great army all around us," answered Pierrot,—"a greater army than ever approached Rochelle before. That we could manage to resist, perhaps. But then they are going very coolly to work fortifying every town and well-pitched village of the Papists within fifty miles of the city, and filling them with soldiers, so that every egg that comes to market will have to be fought for. Well, that we could perhaps manage too, for we could get supplies from England. But look here, Master Ned: there are two parties in Rochelle. Our best lords and wisest citizens, our chief generals and captains, know well that our only hope is in the support of England; but there is a more numerous, if not a stronger, party, who do not like your great duke, would have nothing to do with your good country, and would have us stand alone and fight it out by ourselves. One of their chief men is Jargeau."
"I see," said the lad. "But what did he seek by trying to entrap me to go to Mauzé?"
"First, your letters were likely either to fall into the hands of the Catholics, and, by showing how firmly Rochelle could count upon English help, frighten them and make them reasonable," answered Pierrot, "or, secondly, they might fall into the hands of Miguet and his other friends, who would take care they should never reach their destination. That was the plan, Master Ned."
"And not a bad plan, either," answered the other, thoughtfully, "supposing I had any letters. But, as you say, Rochelle is in a bad way; for, if her leaders are afraid to let each other know their exact position and what they may count upon, she is a house divided against herself, and cannot stand. But what made Jargeau think I had letters? Nobody told him so, I think."