“Well, my friend,” said the Count, as he overtook the man, “and where are you going with that fine horse?”
“Monsieur,” replied the other, “I found him tied to a post, and thinking it a pity to leave him there to be misused maybe, or stolen by the first thief, I am taking him home.”
“Just so,” replied the Count, taking a louis from his pocket, “and, as I may be in want of a horse in a few hours, here is a louis for you if you will take him home, give him a feed, change his saddle and be with him on the road that leads from the Porte St. Antoine at eleven o’clock, that is, nine hours from now. Be a quarter of a mile beyond the gate, and if you will do this, I will pay you ten louis for your trouble.”
“Monsieur, I will do it.”
“Can you obtain a plain saddle in exchange for this one?”
“I will try, monsieur.”
“Do not try, simply rip all this stuff off and take the saddle-bag away, then it will be plain enough, take off the chain bridle and leave the leather, and remember ten louis for your trouble.”
He handed the louis to the man, and went on his way.
It was a good idea, though risky; Rochefort, however, took risks; he was of the temper of Jean Bart, who, it will be remembered, once reefed his sails with seaweed, trusting to the wind to blow them loose at the proper moment.
In the Rue St. Dominic he paused at the house indicated in the letter. It was a medium-sized house of good appearance, and all the windows were in darkness, with the exception of the second window on the first floor. He stopped and looked up at this window. To knock at the door would mean rousing the porter. He was quite prepared to do that, but the lit window fascinated him, something told him that the person he sought was there.