"Monsieur, I fear something has gone wrong. Did you receive my letter? My messenger has not returned, and I can hear no word of him. I am too busily engaged to leave Monseigneur, and I do not care to send to you openly. Cordel either suspects or knows that I am your friend.
D'ANGELY."
Calling Jacques, I handed the note to him, and asked his opinion.
"It does not help us a bit," he declared; "it explains nothing. If L'Estang is a false friend, as I believe, he is merely trying by this note to throw dust into your eyes. If, on the other hand, he was not a party to the plot, the mystery remains the same."
"I fear you are right, Jacques. However, let us not trouble our heads with the riddle; it will solve itself one of these days. I have other news; can you guess what it is?"
"By your face, monsieur, it should be something pleasant: the king has signed those tiresome papers!"
"Not exactly right," I answered laughing, "but I have hope of that happening in time. We are going to Paris, Jacques. There is likely to be war with Spain, and I am to receive the king's commission. It will be better than fighting against those of our own race and blood; and if we come through the campaign alive, Monsieur Cordel may even cast his eyes on some other person's estates."
"When do we start?" asked Jacques eagerly.
"I have a few arrangements to make. Let us say the day after to-morrow."
"Very good, monsieur, but it is a long time to wait."