“I confess that I have no taste for intrigue,” Péron replied, with a shrug.
“Nor I,” said the priest dryly, “yet without it more heads would be broken. I see you have finished your supper, it is well; there is a taper, and in the room beyond you will find a bed. Take what rest you can, for you must leave at daybreak to-morrow to elude pursuit.”
“But my instructions,” Péron said; “had I not better receive them to-night?”
The priest shook his head. “Nay,” he replied, “you will remember them better in the morning, and they are simple. It is my work to-night to prepare the message in a shape that may escape detection.”
Thus summarily dismissed, Péron had no excuse to remain, and obeyed the priest’s directions. The bed in the next room was a mere pallet of the hardest sort; but the traveller was weary, and he was not sorry to stretch himself upon it. In spite of his anxieties and the prospect of a dangerous journey on the morrow, he soon sank into a sound sleep, disturbed only by confused dreams of the trinket and Renée de Nançay.
He was awakened before dawn by Paschal Luce, who stood by his bed holding a taper in his hand.
“Wake up, sir musketeer!” he said brusquely, “you lie like a log. A man could rap you over the head without risk for his pains. It is time you were up and dressed; your horse is saddled and your breakfast is waiting.”
Péron rose hastily and began to put on his clothing while Paschal was speaking.
“Is the house watched?” he asked eagerly.
The clerk shook his head. “Nay,” he replied, “not that I can discover; yet I cannot believe we shall elude them, for I think they have long been suspicious of this house.”