"Perhaps I too can return the compliment, monsieur. You are——"
"Bertrand Broussel, bourgeois, of the Rue des Lavandières, Paris," I interrupted, and I caught a strange expression of disappointment in mademoiselle's eyes. "Hum!" I thought, "does the furrier's niece take me for a prince of the blood in disguise?"
La Marmotte, however, cut in at this juncture, for she saw the storm in the air, and I again said that we would go on at once, if Messire Trotto would of his kindness provide us with a guide; if not, we would go without one.
And Trotto answered blandly:
"Impossible! My lieutenant is away with my men, and I have no one here who knows the way. I am totally ignorant myself, or I would willingly help you. Besides, to go now would be madness. The road is infested by robbers—faith of a gentleman!"
"That is indeed true! I have just escaped them—thanks to the bravery of this gentleman here," exclaimed mademoiselle.
"Madame, you are lucky to have escaped; but you must tell us of your adventures as we sup," and he moved towards the table.
In the meantime Pierrebon, looking well to the right and left, led the horses towards the stables. Every shadow in the winding walk, every recess in the over-grown privet, hid a secret enemy to him. He avoided passing near the ruined summer-house for fear of the ambush that might be within, and then, finding the hedges close in upon the road, boldly took his beasts along the neglected parterres until at last he reached the stables. Here, near the open door he saw Malsain, tall and thin, but muscular and strong as whipcord, sitting down by the light of a guttering candle to a meagre repast of bread and cheese, washed down with water—for Malsain never touched wine.
"An evil-looking man," Pierrebon thought, as he glanced at Malsain sitting on a stool; and evil-looking indeed he was, with his hawk's face, thin cruel slit of a mouth, and one wicked eye that glowed with the same sombre fire as the fuse of his arquebus, which leaned against the wall behind him. And then from the man himself Pierrebon glanced at the hermit's fare before him. "St. Siege!" he groaned, "bread and cheese and cold water—with a dagger-thrust to follow for digestion, perhaps."
But now Malsain heard him, his hand went out silently to the arquebus, and he turned a yellow, threatening face towards the visitor.