"True," said she, with a charming smile, "you are an enemy to the prince, but I do not forget that you are also one of my best friends."

[Transcriber's note: illustration missing from book]

The scene of my departure from the chateau is still very vivid in my memory. It was evening, and the sky flushed red with the glories of the setting sun. From afar came the tinkling of bells, the lowing of kine, and the chatter of the serving-men. The ladies stood on the terrace overlooking the fine park, and as I rode off they waved their hands in farewell, and wished me God-speed on the journey.

I was half sorry to plunge again into the strife, but the beautiful evening and the brisk ride soon restored my spirits. I wished Pillot had been with me, not alone for the sake of his company, but for his help also. However, I was young and strong, and having a certain amount of confidence in myself rode on cheerily enough.

On the third evening after leaving the chateau I arrived at Rheims, passing into the town just before the closing of the gates. The streets were filled with people who wore an air of excitement as if something was going forward. A number of soldiers loitered about in groups, but whether they were the King's friends or Condé's I could not determine, as they wore no distinguishing colours.

Riding slowly down one of the less frequented streets, I discovered an inn which had every appearance of being clean and comfortable.

"This is the place to suit me," I said half aloud, and was proceeding to dismount, when I caught sight of a man staring hard in my direction from the window of the opposite house, and while I was talking to the ostler the stranger had run down and clapped me on the back in the heartiest manner. He looked rather like a soldier of fortune who had fallen on evil times. His finery was distinctly faded, but he carried a good sword, and seemed capable of using it. His face was tanned by exposure to the weather, both cheeks bore the marks of sword-cuts, and there was a scar on his forehead just above the left eye. Altogether he appeared a far from desirable acquaintance.

"Henri, my boy," he cried, giving me another tremendous thwack, "how came you here? Ah, you are a sly rascal! Plotting more mischief, eh? Well, well, you are safe for me, though I am for the King."

The speaker rattled on at such a rate that I could scarcely manage to put in, "Pardon me, monsieur, but you have made a mistake."

"A mistake?" he exclaimed. "Peste! I must be growing old. My eyesight is failing. Aren't you Henri de Lalande? You are very much like him. Ah, no, I perceive now you are younger. He is an old friend, but we see little of each other. I am in the King's service and he is a Frondeur. But in private life, you know, eh?" and he gave me a vigorous dig in the ribs, following it up by saying, "Perhaps monsieur is a relative?"