"Well, there's something in that. The Count is not a forgiving man. And yet, as to his power of revenge, I know not—Well, do as you please."
"Oh, devil take it, I'll go under my own name, let come what may! I don't like the idea of masquerading."
"A brave young gentleman! Then there's no more to be said. When we are inside the chateau, it will be each of us for himself, though of course we must keep up the comedy of wishing to play chess. Meet me by chance at the cabaret, then, in about an hour."
Without any more ado, he left me. Coming forth from the concealed place a minute later, I saw him strolling along the river, looking at the fields and the sky, as if nothing else were on his mind. I presently imitated him, but went in another direction. In due time I made my way to the cabaret, and there he was, at the table where I had first seen him.
We spoke to each other as had been arranged, and easily carried the conversation to the desired point, mostly in the hearing of the woman of the cabaret as she sat knitting by the door. When it came to writing the note, the long-nosed man tore a leaf of paper out of his pocket book, and had pen and ink fetched from his lodging over the cabaret; I then composed our request in as courteous phrases as I thought suitable. The woman herself carried the note to the chateau gates, and we saw a grated wicket open, and a scowling fellow show his face there, who questioned her, glanced at us with no friendly look, took the note, and closed the wicket. We waited half an hour or so, sipping our wine and talking carelessly, till I imagined the long-nosed man was becoming a little doubtful. But just as he was losing his placidity so far as to cross one leg over another, the chateau gate opened, and a heavy, dark-browed fellow with the appearance rather of a soldier than of a servant, came out, and over to us, scrutinizing us keenly as he approached. He asked if we were the gentlemen who had written to borrow a set of chessmen. Being so informed, he said:
"Monsieur the Count, my master, begs to be excused from sending his chessmen to you, but if you will come to them he will be glad to judge of your playing; and perhaps to offer the winner a bout with himself."
We took half a minute to evince our pleased surprise, our sense of favour, and so forth, at this courteous invitation,—and then we followed the servant to the chateau. It was amusing to see how innocently, decorously, and consciously of unexpected honour my long-nosed friend walked through the gateway, and gazed with childlike admiration around the court-yard and the grey façade of the chateau confronting us.
A few wide steps led up to the arched door, which admitted us to a large hall plentifully furnished with tables, benches, and finely-carved chairs. It was panelled in oak and hung with arms, boars' heads, and other trophies. At the upper end of a long table, the one leaning forward from a chair at the head, the other from the bench at the side, lounged two men, whom I recognized instantly from the descriptions of the innkeeper as if from painted portraits. They were the Count de Lavardin and Captain Ferragant.
Yes, there was the "lean old grey wolf," grey not only in his bristly hair and short pointed beard, but even in the general hue of his wizen face; grey as to the little eyes that peered out between their narrowed slits; grey even, on this occasion, as to his velvet doublet and breeches. Though his face was wizen, the leanness of his body had no appearance of weakness, but rather every sign of strength. I noticed that his fingers seemed to possess great crunching power, and there was always on his face the faint beginning of a smile which, I thought, would heighten into glee when those fingers were in the act of strangling somebody.
As for the Captain, there was indeed a great blotch of deep red across his cheek; he was a large, powerful fellow, with a bold, insolent face, and fierce, pitiless eyes. To make his sobriquet the fitter, he wore a suit of crimson, very rich and ornate. His beard and hair, however, were black.