"He says it is sufficient to tell you he is the writer of the letter from St. Jean d'Angely."
"It is all right, Jacques. Have the horse put in the stables, and bring the rider here."
"Is it wise, monsieur? One cannot be too careful in these days."
"The man is a friend, Jacques, and will do me no harm. You are getting fanciful."
"Very good, monsieur," said he stolidly, and turned away.
"The writer of the letter from St. Jean d'Angely," I said. "He must have come from Paris on purpose to see me! What does he want? Does he bring news? What a dolt Jacques is! Why is he so long? Ah, they are coming!" and in my eagerness I hurried to the door.
My visitor was heavily cloaked and closely muffled, and he made no movement toward undoing his wrappings.
"Is it L'Estang?" I asked, at which he turned as if to remind me that my servant was present.
"You can trust Jacques as you would trust myself," I said; "but come into my room, while he prepares some supper; you are wet; it is a wild night."
"A terrible night, monsieur; I was glad to see the walls of your castle."