It was not until he was approaching the Somme that he saw anything to arouse his suspicions, and then he thought he observed a party of travellers in advance who acted strangely. However, he lost sight of them at the ford of Blanche Tache, and he went on to Amiens without again discovering them. He arrived at the town just at sundown and had some difficulty in reaching the gates before they were closed. Once in the city, Péron looked about sharply for his travellers, but saw none resembling them. The place was crowded with visitors, and he reflected that not only could they elude him but he could also avoid them. So, with more assurance, he rode to an inn, the Rose Couronnée, recommended by Paschal Luce; and there he found accommodation, although the landlord at first protested that every apartment was filled and it would cost a crown to sleep upon a table in the public room. At last, however, he found a bed for the new arrival and sent his horse to the stables, whither Péron followed to see that the beast received proper care.
CHAPTER XXI
THE INN AT AMIENS
WHEN Péron returned from his errand to the stables, he found the public room of the inn full to overflowing. There was a fair at the horse-market, and it had crowded all the hostelries, chiefly with country folk and traders from both sides of the Somme; but there were also other guests, and some of distinction; and it was even whispered that M. de Bouillon was there, in the private apartments above. This caused no little undercurrent of gossip, for it was suspected that there was some plotting between this duke and the queen-mother, in which Monsieur was concerned. And this was really true; for a little while afterwards when M. de Bouillon was sent by the king to take command of the Italian army, he was drawn into the plot of Monsieur and Cinq Mars, and pledged the town of Sedan—of which he was prince-sovereign—as a refuge for the plotters in case of defeat. More than once in the talk, Péron’s attentive ear caught the name of M. le Grand, to his surprise, for he believed—with many others—that “the king’s rattle” was also the cardinal’s tool. The idle talk increased the young soldier’s uneasiness, and he ate his supper with small appetite, thinking of M. de Bouillon and his party overhead and wondering how directly their presence might concern him. Meanwhile, the rattle of crockery, the jingle of glasses, and occasional snatches of song filled the place with an almost deafening noise and commotion. Every table was crowded and even the window-sills were doing service, and Péron found himself squeezed in at the lower end of a long table, between two men,—the one on the left a horse-dealer, and the one on the right wearing the habit of a clerk of the Sorbonne. Both repelled the young musketeer, the horse-dealer by his loud and half-intoxicated talk, the clerk by his evil expression, having across his nose an ugly scar which seemed to belie his calling. However, he was a civil, smooth-spoken man, and Péron could find no excuse for turning his back upon him, as his first impulse prompted. He began to talk as soon as Péron was seated, opening his remarks by a reference to the storm and the delays caused by the heavy roads. The musketeer replied shortly and with indifference; however, this did not discourage the clerk, who continued to converse in low tones, not always audible amidst the bustle and noise of the place.
“You are going south, I presume,” he remarked cheerfully, in spite of his neighbor’s coolness.
“In that direction, yes,” Péron retorted curtly, applying himself to his supper with the intention of escaping so soon as it was despatched.
“To Paris, perhaps?” inquired the persistent stranger.
“Probably to Paris,” replied Péron.
“In that case, we may ride together,” remarked the clerk. “I go to Sorbonne and shall be glad of company; in these unsettled times the roads are not always safe for a solitary traveller, and you are, I take it, a soldier by profession.”
Péron had registered a mental vow that the scarred clerk would not ride with him, but he thought it best to dissemble.
“You live in Paris, sir?” he inquired, more courteously.