Dawn was already faintly tinging the sky in the far east when Pierre halted before the door of a hut so quaintly built against an overhanging crag of rock as to be easily passed by unobserved.
"See, monsieur," he said thoughtfully, "it will not be well to enter now; it may be that ere long the enemies of monsieur will think of the hut of Pierre the fool, for there are those who know not only of it, but of the love I bear you; therefore it were best to seek shelter till day arrives in a secure hiding-place. Tenez, monsieur, behold such an one as will mock those who pursue!" And with pride the boy showed a deep fissure in the crag close by, so carefully concealed that a man might lie in perfect safety between the two high boulders without fear of detection. "Monsieur will rest here till danger has passed," observed Pierre, waving a lean hand towards the fissure of rock with the air of a host who invites his guest to partake of his sumptuous hospitality, "and afterwards the little Gabrielle will keep watch, as also she will tend to the needs of monsieur."
"And for yourself?" demanded de Coray sharply, even now distrustful.
The jester shrugged his shoulders and spread out his hands with a gesture of self-importance.
"For myself, monsieur, I return to the château, for it were not well that I should be missed. Be assured, monsieur, that my ears and eyes will be open, so that in the evening when I return there may be news which will guide you on your journey."
"Journey!" exclaimed de Coray bitterly; "a long and safe journey, I trow, with neither horse nor provision for the way; 'twill be a journey into the arms of my good uncle, I ween, and, by the beard of St Gildas, I trow his embrace will be scarce to my liking."
But Pierre shook his head with an air of superior wisdom.
"Monsieur misjudges me," he said reproachfully. "Pierre the fool is surely less fool than the words of monsieur imply. This evening when I return I will bring a horse fleet and sure-footed, also news of the pursuit of monsieur's enemies; the rest, if monsieur rides with caution, will be altogether easy."
The lad's words were reassuring, his manner simple and straightforward, and, in spite of the inward misgivings, which must ever haunt a man whose own ways are crooked when they are fain to entrust themselves to the honour of another, de Coray was forced, for very necessity, to accept Pierre's apparently honest promises of assistance. Yet, shut up in his gloomy hiding-place, the traitor felt the inward qualms and fears growing rapidly, coupled as they were with the dread of capture. A swift review of his broken schemes showed him how small a hope of mercy there must needs be did he fall into his outraged kinsman's hands.
The tissue of lies which he had woven around d'Estrailles and Gwennola de Mereac would now wing themselves against him and prove fresh voices of accusation as his true motives and own deadly deeds were brought to view. As he thought of all he could not but glance with some vague dread on that shrouded past of his. Little did any guess the traitor's way he had trodden so blithely since youth. With a shame which was yet half-mocking pride at his own shrewdness and cunning, he recalled how he, a noble of Brittany, had been content to become a tool in the hands of the infamous Landais, and yet, whilst earning a rich reward for his services, had escaped sharing his low-born master's fate, when an outraged and too long-suffering people had taken the law into their own hands and hanged the tyrant in defiance of their Sovereign Duke. Then he recalled, lying there looking back over the past, how he had bethought him of his kinsfolk of Mereac, and, riding westward, had come, like some ill-omened bird, to prey on an inheritance which he found well to his liking. The treacherous death of the young heir had seemed to him a master stroke of cunning, and no sooner had he deemed it safely accomplished than he set to work to ingratiate himself with the old Sieur and his daughter.