“Do you go with me?” Péron asked, noticing the pronoun.
“Only a league beyond the gates,” the other rejoined; “then I return over our tracks to see if I can discover aught of interest.”
By this time Péron was ready, and the two went into the next room, where he speedily despatched the breakfast that had been prepared for him. He had scarcely finished when Père Matthieu came in.
“Paschal,” he said, “go down and bring your mule and the horse to the back door; you must start immediately.” Then as the clerk left the room, he turned to Péron: “Here, sir, is this pellet which, I charge you, guard with your life.”
Péron looked in amazement at a tiny ball of silver which the priest held out to him; it was scarcely larger than a filbert and looked like a solid ball of metal. Seeing his amazement, Père Matthieu smiled.
“That trinket holds a message for monsignor,” he said quietly; “it has been cunningly devised for just such an emergency. Take it and carry it as the most precious thing you have except your own soul; conceal it from all, and if the hour come when you are close pressed, put it in your mouth before you fight.”
“And if I find that I shall be overpowered,” said Péron, taking the silver pellet and looking at it strangely, “what then?”
“Swallow it,” said the priest, sternly, “if it choke you to death.”
“In that case they could cut it from my throat.”
Père Matthieu shrugged his shoulders. “’Twould be better so than that they took it while you were alive,” he returned grimly. “It is enough to tell you that it contains the evidence of secret dealings with Spain, the number of men that the French traitors ask to destroy their own country, and it will materially aid monsignor in his efforts to destroy these plots.”