“Have you enemies in the neighborhood?” demanded the old Count.
“There are enemies following me,” declared De Marsac. “There is one who would snap out my life as you would snap a piece of straw. But this is not his work. This is the work of another.” Terrified, he looked around the room. “Have you ever heard of the ‘Will-o’-the-Wisp’?” he asked.
“No. Who is he?” we cried together.
“A highwayman,” he answered. “—a bold desperate highwayman. For a month at a time he terrifies the countryside. Then he disappears. Miles and miles away he is heard from again. He is seldom seen. He works alone. It is his disguises that trick people. He can masquerade as a nobleman, a beggar, a soldier—anything.”
He flung himself into a chair but was up in a flash again.
“Gentlemen, we have had our little dispute,” he said hurriedly. “It is all over now and done with. You see I cannot venture out into the night without fear for my life. In the name of your hospitality I am going to ask you to let me rest here until the morning.”
The old Count looked warningly at my brother and silently shook his head ‘no.’ But André, who was easily touched on the softer side, arose and bowed.
“I offer you every courtesy,” he said quietly. “It is past midnight and no doubt you are weary from your ride. I shall light you to your room.”
He took the candle and went before. In a few minutes he was down again.
“I could not do otherwise,” he explained.