And now the great gate of the château opened and all the dragoons of De Broglie and Hérault came in, the horses being tethered in the courtyard, while the wretched prisoners were told roughly by the second in command that they could throw themselves down there. Soon, he said, they would sleep well enough. Need neither pillow nor bolster!
"Yet give us bread," one whispered, "bread and to drink, though only water. Kill us not before our time."
"You shall have both," the commandant replied. "We do not starve those to death who are reserved for other things."
They all turned away after this, leaving the prisoners amid the troopers and the horses, the commandant inviting the two officers to accompany him and Martin to the platform of the castle, there to await the supper and the pleasure of being presented to his Excellency's daughter, while, as they went, Martin, who had been regarding M. de Broglie's nephew from the first moment when the troop had appeared under the castle, could not resist saying to him:
"Monsieur, I can not but think we have met before. Your face is familiar to me."
"Possibly, monsieur," the other replied with a courteous bow, though one that, Martin thought, scarcely savoured of that ease and grace which a member of the De Broglie family should possess, a great house whose scions were almost always of a certainty trained to all the courtlinesses of Versailles and St. Germain. "Possibly, monsieur. I am much about in various places. Can monsieur, par hazard, recall where we may have met?"
"Nay, nay," Martin said, "nay. And 'tis but a light fancy. Doubtless I am mistaken."
[CHAPTER XVII.]
THE RUSE.
Nevertheless he was convinced that he was not mistaken. Yet where--where had he seen this nephew of De Broglie before?