“Yes; an old fox knows how to guard his brush, and we both had warning enough.”
“But you, monsieur,” I asked, “do you stay or go?”
He looked up at me, for all the world like an old boar at bay, and laughed harshly.
“I—go! No! If it comes to the worst I have sixty tried men at my back. This house is strong and amply provisioned, and if I have to die, it shall be sword in hand on my own hearth.”
As he finished the bell in the courtyard clanged out the hour. It was already seven. Cipierre spoke again at the last stroke.
“I am going my rounds. Will you come with me?”
I, however, excused myself, and waited until I heard him ride out with his guards. Then summoning Badehorn, I gave him a short note to Marcilly, informing him briefly that his wife had reached St. Loup.
“Give this to Monsieur le Comte yourself, and say that I will be late to-night. And, Badehorn, when you have done this, ride straight to the Château de St. Loup and await me there.”
“Monsieur!” and I was once more alone. I had still a little time on my hands before the hour of my tryst with Richelieu fell due. I went to my room, changed my attire, and then made a pass or two at the grotesque head of a griffin in the corner of the mantel-piece of my chamber.
I was curious to see if I still remembered Touchet’s favorite thrust, and I found I had not forgotten the master’s teaching. The movement came as cleanly, as easily as in the days when I was wont to practise it for hours together before a mirror, until even I myself could not see the swift turn of my wrist or the point of my blade; and I laughed a little in my heart as I thought of this, and of yet another advantage that I had—I was a left-handed man.