“Yes, since I have entered the Sorbonne,” the other replied; “and you?”
“I go there on private business,” Péron said.
“We will ride together,” said the stranger. “I proposed starting early on the morrow, but I am not in haste, and I can make my time suit your inclination.”
Péron took a moment for thought.
“I shall not leave until noon,” he rejoined; “I am a stranger in Amiens, and I can occupy the morning with profit in looking about the town.”
“Permit me to be your guide,” said the clerk, courteously; “I was born here in Amiens—though I left it twenty years ago. My name is Guerin Neff.”
Péron bowed gravely, but made no response. At the same moment he received a nudge from the elbow of the tipsy horse-dealer, who had been strangely quiet for the last few minutes.
“His name is Guerin Neff,” mumbled this worthy, thickly, “but look you, comrade, he is the biggest rogue in Amiens, ay, on this side the Somme.”
In the confusion, the clerk did not catch the low-toned remark, although he cast a suspicious glance at the horse-dealer, and Péron smiled. Of the two, he felt more confidence in the drunkard; but happily, having finished his meal he rose from the table, hoping thus to escape both. However, he could not so easily shake off Neff, who followed him across the crowded room to ask at what hour he would go out in the morning. Inclined to believe the warning of the horse-dealer, and deeply annoyed at the man’s persistence, Péron was tempted to cut short the matter, and hesitated only because of the extreme necessity for caution. If anything lay behind the stranger’s pursuit of him, it was wisest to dupe him with a semblance of complaisance; and so, much against his natural inclination, Péron replied with courtesy, appointing an hour later than the time at which he secretly intended to leave Amiens. This agreement seemed to satisfy the stranger, but he still followed the musketeer out into the hall. Opposite the public room were two smaller ones, and through the open door of the first could be seen a group of travellers playing cards at a table in the center and surrounded by a curious assemblage. Hoping to shake off his troublesome acquaintance, Péron entered this apartment and stood a moment on the edge of the circle, looking on. Four men sat at the table deeply engaged in the game, all dressed fashionably and like persons of wealth. Two looked like many of the young men who usually dangled about the court, the other two were masked. The black masks with only the round holes for the eyes and covering all the face but the chin, presented a strange appearance in the light of the tapers on the table, and gave a certain mysterious interest to the game, especially as these two were partners. They were all unusually silent, and their manner had its effect upon the spectators; these looked on eagerly, for the contest was keen and the stakes high, but they forbore to interrupt the solemn decorum of the game. There was something fascinating in the masks and the profound stillness, while the jewelled hands of the four players moved with such wonderful celerity and skill. Péron became interested at once in spite of himself, and drew nearer to the table, followed by the officious clerk, who stood close at his side, looking on with interest apparently as keen as any of the others. Not a word was said; there was no sound but the light clip of the cards, except the noise which came from the dining-room across the hall. The two masks were winning, winning heavily, and the other two played desperately, as losing men will. Suddenly there was a change of luck, one of the losers began to win, and his opponents bore the reverse with less equanimity. The taller of the masks flung down his card, the knave of clubs, with an oath. As he did so, Péron’s watchful eyes caught the superscription, and he started. A statute of Henri III. had laid down the law that all master-cardmakers should thereafter inscribe their names, surnames, signs, and devices on the knave of clubs; a statute unrepealed by Louis XIII. But on this knave of clubs Péron saw the single word “Sedan,” and he could not fail to attach a peculiar significance to it; for it was the name of the stronghold of M. de Bouillon, whom men believed to be involved both with Monsieur and the queen-mother against the cardinal. Whether there was or was not a secret meaning to this game of cards, Péron could not decide; but he needed no second warning; he determined to withdraw quietly from this dangerous vicinity. However, this resolution was more easily made than executed. In his first interest in the game, he had unconsciously drawn nearer to the table and stood in the front row of spectators; now he turned to retreat, but as he did so the tallest mask sprang to his feet and seized him by one arm, just as Guerin Neff grasped the other. Péron was powerful, and he put out his full strength to shake them off, but in vain; each held him with a grip of iron.
“Unhand me, villains!” he exclaimed, in impotent fury.