A shout rang out at that moment. “Halt! Who goes there?”
“Mon Dieu!” exclaimed Mademoiselle, drawing close up to me, and again the voice sounded, this time more sinister.
“Halt, I say—in the King's name!”
The coach came to a standstill, and through the window I beheld the shadowy forms of several mounted men, and the feeble glare of a lantern.
“Who travels in the carriage, knave?” came the voice again.
“Mademoiselle de Canaples,” answered Michelot; then, like a fool, he must needs add: “Have a care whom you knave, my master, if you would grow old.”
“Pardieu! let us behold this Mademoiselle de Canaples who owns so fearful a warrior for a coachman.”
The door was flung rudely open, and the man bearing the lantern—whose rays shone upon a uniform of the Cardinal's guards—confronted us.
With a chuckle he flashed the light in my face, then suddenly grew serious.
“Peste! Is it indeed you, M. de Luynes?” quoth he; adding, with stern politeness, “It grieves me to disturb you, but I have a warrant for your arrest.”