All at once it was rumoured that the chevalier had vanished, disappeared mysteriously, and that every trace of him was lost. There were men who whispered of the Chatelet, or, worse still, the Bastille; others who said the Seine was very deep near the mills by the Pont aux Meunniers; others who put together the sudden retreat from the court of the brilliant but infamous Madame de Sauves, the Rose of Guise, with the disappearance of de Bouchage, and shook their heads and winked knowingly. They were all wrong. Gradually the truth came out, and it became known that the polished courtier, the great soldier, and the splendid cavalier had thrown away the world as one would fling aside an old cloak, and buried himself in a cloister.
It was a ten days' wonder; then other things happened, and perhaps not one in ten thousand remembered, in the saintly père Ange, the once fiery prince of the house of Joyeuse.
I have mentioned this because of his reproof to me. Day by day my education was progressing, and I began to recognise that my virtue was pitiless, that I was too ready to judge harshly of others. Père Ange's reproof was a lesson I meant to profit by; and now—to the abode of Maître Pantin.
Palin's directions were clear, and after crossing the Pont St. Michel, a wooden bridge, we kept to the south of Ste. Chapelle, and then, after many a twist and turn, found ourselves in the Rue des Deux Mondes, before the doors of Pantin's house.
The master himself answered my knock and stood in the doorway, a small, wizened figure, looking at us cautiously from grey eyes, shadowed by bushy white brows.
'Good-day, monsieur—what is it I can do for you?'
'You are Maître Pantin?'
'At your service.'
'And I am the Chevalier d'Auriac. I have come to Paris from Bidache on business, and need a lodging. Maître Palin has recommended me to you.'
'Enough, monsieur le chevalier. My friend Palin's name is sufficient, and I have need of clients, for the house is empty. If Monsieur's servant will lead the horses through that lane there, he will find an entrance to the stables—and will Monsieur step in and take a seat while I summon my wife—Annette! Annette!'