“—and what about you?”
“I’m going back,” he replied. “The country’s too dangerous.”
“Will you tell my brother never to give up the estates—no matter what happens?” I asked, “—even if I’m a prisoner in De Marsac’s castle for life?”
“It won’t be necessary,” he said. “You’ll never see De Marsac’s castle.”
CHAPTER XVII
ON THE HIGHWAY
That was a long night. I fell asleep with my head in my arms over the table with the scrivener opposite me. De Marsac took no chances of my escape. He left four men in the room, two to stand guard in turn while the others snatched a wink of sleep. After he had cleared the plates and dishes away the landlord disappeared. Once in a while I awoke and looked around. But this time I was sure there would be no rescue, no helping hand.
The first streaks of dawn were struggling in at the little window when I got to my feet. My muscles were as sore as if I had been dragged a mile through a mire. I yawned and stretched myself and listened for a moment to the birds chirping and quarreling in the ivy that covered the outer walls of the inn.
One of my guards brought breakfast for us all. It was then that I observed for the first that my companion, the scrivener, was nowhere to be seen. He must have slipped out in the dead of night, unnoticed. The men looked at each other in question, puzzled, but I smiled to myself. I knew it was one of those little tricks that he so dearly loved to play.
We went once again out on the highway. The sun was up big and red. Three of the men remained at the inn, but the fourth, a fellow called Pierre, was to lead me far down the valley of the Loire. For days I was to be his prisoner. I was to eat and sleep with him. He was to be all the companion I was to have, so I determined I would make the best of it and be on as friendly a footing as I could.