"I am acquainted with many things," he answered, smiling. "The king brought up the subject in Paris; Monseigneur protested, but Charles had one of his obstinate fits and declared he would do as he pleased.

Monseigneur went to his mother, who talked to Charles with the result that the papers are still unsigned."

"The Admiral will use his influence," I said.

"The Admiral is a broken reed, monsieur; but if it were not so, your danger would be just as great. Cordel has been in Paris: he is furious at the check to his plans, and afraid lest they should be overthrown. He can see but one way out of the difficulty."

"And that?"

"Is obvious; you are the obstacle in his path, and he intends to remove it."

"You mean that he will try to take my life?"

"If you were dead, he would obtain the estates without trouble, and the patent would follow."

"Pshaw!" I exclaimed, "Etienne Cordel is too timorous a knave to play with naked steel, or even to fire a pistol from behind a hedge!"

"But not too timorous to employ others," said L'Estang. "There are scores of ruffians in Paris ready to earn a few crowns, and Cordel knows where to seek them. That is what brought me here to-night. Weigh well what I say, monsieur. This rascal has marked you down, and sleeping or waking your life is in danger."

I thanked the kind-hearted adventurer warmly for his service--it was strange to think that but for a trifling accident he might have been earning Cordel's pay--and promised to observe the greatest caution.

"If I learn anything more," he said, "I will send you a note by a trusty messenger, and that you may be sure it comes from me I will sign it D'Angely."

"A good suggestion, monsieur. Now, there is still time for an hour or two's sleep before starting on your journey."

"I must not be here at daylight: if Cordel recognizes me, I can do you no more good."

"The mornings are dark; I will call you in ample time, and Jacques will have your horse ready. You can be miles away from Le Blanc before the villagers are stirring."

The heavy supper and the warmth of the room after his cold, wet ride had made him drowsy, and on my promising to call him at the end of two hours he went to bed.

It was still dark when Jacques undid the fastenings of the gate, and I bade my guest farewell.

"Remember my warning!" he whispered, "and keep free from Cordel's clutches."

"A short visit, monsieur," commented Jacques, as L'Estang rode off.

"But full of interest, nevertheless. My visitor came all the way from Paris in this wretched weather and at some risk to himself to warn me against Etienne Cordel"; and thereupon I told Jacques the story, though without revealing the adventurer's ident.i.ty.

"The tale rings true," said he, "but we ought to be a match for the lawyer's cut-throats. 'Tis a pity that Cordel won't give us a chance of measuring swords with him."

"He knows better how to handle the goose-quill," I laughed, leaving Jacques to fasten the gate, and returning to my room.

CHAPTER XIX

Who Killed the Courier?

L'Estang's information caused me a certain amount of anxiety, and during the next few weeks I was rarely abroad except for a ride in the broad daylight. Cordel, who was still at home, occasionally came into the village, but nothing happened that served to show he was pushing on his plot.

Indeed, as Jacques pointed out one evening when we were discussing the matter, the lawyer had a difficult game to play. He could strike at me only outside the castle walls, while the villagers were my devoted friends, and every man of them would be eager to put me on my guard.

But Cordel's threats had apparently ended in smoke. Week followed week; the old year gave place to the new, and I remained unmolested.

About the beginning of February, 1572, I received another letter from Jeanne, informing me that her royal mistress had finally consented to journey to Blois, and that they would set out in a week or two at the latest. She also added, in a brief postscript at the end, that Roger Braund intended to pay us a visit before the summer ended.

About the same time a message reached me from Felix, who was at Blois again, in attendance on our patron. The king, he wrote, was more than ever fixed on the marriage of his sister Margaret to Henry of Beam, though the Pope and all the Guises were bitterly opposed to the match.

"But the marriage is certain to take place," he concluded, "and then, if not before, I trust Charles will see that justice is done you."

"'Twas from Monsieur Bellievre, Jacques," I said, when the messenger had departed with my reply; "he is at Blois once more. There is to be a marriage between the king's sister and our Prince Henry, and the Court is filled with excitement. Do you know, Jacques, I am getting weary of this life. If we were at Blois I should have a chance of meeting the king and pressing my claims. The longer we stay here, the more likely I am to be forgotten."

"True, monsieur; in my opinion it was a mistake to come. When one is not in sight, one is not in mind, and the Admiral has many weighty matters to think about."

"I have told Monsieur Bellievre what I think, and asked his advice. But still, I cannot return without the Admiral's commands."

The next morning Jacques came early to my room before I had risen.

"Monsieur," he said, "will you get up? A strange thing has happened."

"A strange thing?" I repeated, springing from the bed.

"A man has been slain--at least I believe the poor fellow is dead--on the highroad. Urie found him; he was not dead then, and had sufficient strength to whisper your name. Urie declares that he said quite distinctly, 'Monsieur Le Blanc!' so he had him brought here."

"Do we know him?" I asked, now thoroughly roused.

"He is a stranger to me. I have never seen him before, and he does not belong to these parts. But one thing is certain: he is no peaceable citizen."

All this time I was hastily dressing, and now, filled with curiosity, I accompanied Jacques to the room where the wounded man lay. He was a st.u.r.dy-looking fellow, in the prime of life, tough, wiry, and with muscles well developed by exercise. His dress was that of an ordinary trooper; he wore a long knife at his girdle, and Urie had placed his sword, which was broken and stained with blood, by his side. The mark of an old scar disfigured his left cheek, and his chest showed that he had been wounded more than once in his life. Jacques was certainly right in saying he was no peaceable citizen.

Urie had fetched the cure, who had bandaged his hurts, but the worthy priest shook his head at me as if to say, "There was really little use in doing it."

"Foul work!" I exclaimed; "the man must have made a desperate struggle for life. Where did you find him, Urie?"

"Just outside the little wood, monsieur. The ground all around was ploughed up by horses' hoofs, and stained with blood. I should say he was attacked by at least three hors.e.m.e.n. I thought he was dead, but when I bent over him he was muttering 'Monsieur Le Blanc'"

"Did he seem sensible?"

"I asked him several questions, but he did not reply, except to repeat monsieur's name, so I had him brought here."

"It is very strange," I said; "he is a perfect stranger; I have never seen him before. Why should he mention my name? Is it possible for him to recover?"

"Quite impossible, my son," exclaimed the cure; "he is dying fast; no surgeon could do anything for him. The wonder is that he has lived so long. He has been fearfully hurt."

"Did you meet no strange persons in the village?" I asked Urie.

"Not a soul, monsieur. It was very early; the villagers were not yet about, and the road was empty."

The wounded man groaned, and the cure partly raised his head, when he seemed more comfortable. His eyes were closed, and his breath came in quick gasps; the shadow of death was stealing across his face. Would he have strength to speak before he died? It was unlikely.