“So you have not been here long, then? Yet ’tis an old house.”
“Messire! I am but the servant of the Bishop of St. Aignan, whose abbey farm this is. I came here but a year ago.”
“Then, in addition to your kindness, we are indebted to Monsieur of St. Aignan for shelter to-night.”
“Speak not of that, messire! I would we had better fare for you, who,” and he lowered his voice as he added, “who serve the Prince.”
I replied in the same tone. “Ah, indeed! Your information is extensive and your tongue loose,” and I glanced at our moody companion, who, however, took no notice of us.
“Pardon!” and the man spoke in whispers, “he sleeps, and will not hear. ’Tis some free companion of the road, I fear. But, messire, I have not forgotten a certain meeting in the woods of Loches. In the dusk of the evening six gentlemen met the Prince of Condé by the oak of King Louis. You know the tree, with its trunk mottled as if with leprosy, and spreading its arms wide enough to shelter a company of horse! These six gentlemen, I say, met the Prince, who came alone, and they spoke it may be for an hour together. The heads of four of the six now wither on the spikes of the castle gates of Amboise. The fifth was a great noble from the north, and the sixth—he was, I remember now, the Sieur de Vibrac, a gentleman of the Ruergue.”
“Hist! Fool! How do you know all this?”
“Messire, there was a man in the wood, who had come there by chance and with no evil intent. He was observed and seized. It was thought he was a spy, and the Comte de Ste. Marie would have slain him then and there with his poniard, but you, messire, interposed and saved him. I was that man. It was twilight at the time, and even if it had not been dusk a noble like you would not have remembered me. But I have not forgotten, for life is dear, messire, and you gave it to me once. And so I warn you. There is danger here, and I am powerless to help.”
“The Bishop of Arles?” My voice was so low it might have been the humming of a bee.
He but nodded his head, and I went on.