may perhaps not guess all that
means--and they're in Paris up to the elbow now in the same trade. It's
well known to some of yourselves, or should be, and it puzzles me that
you should come to the shire of Argyll on account of one, as I take it,
no worse than three or four you might have found by stepping across the
road to Roisin's coffee-house in the Rue Vaugirard. The commoners in
the late troubles have been leal enough, I'll give them that credit, but
some of the gentry wag their tongues for Prince Tearlach and ply their
pens for Geordie's pay."

The servant came in with two candles, placed them on the table, and
renewed the fire. He had on a great woollen night-cowl of gaudy hue with
a superb tassel that bobbed grotesquely over his beady eyes.

"I'll awa' to my bed, if it's your will, Baron," said he with the
customary salute. "I was thinkin' it might be needful for me to bide up
a while later in case ony o' the Coont's freends cam' the way; but the
tide'll keep them aff till mornin' anyway, and I'm sure we'll meet
them a' the baulder then if we hae a guid sleep." He got permission to
retire, and passed into the inky darkness of the corridor, and crept to
that part of the vacant dwelling in which he had his bed.

"There might be another reason for my coming here," said Montaiglon,
resuming the conversation where Mungo's entrance had broken it off. "In
this affair there was a lady. I knew her once." He paused with a manner
showing discomposure.

"And there was liking; I can comprehend," said Doom with sympathy.

"Liking is but love without wings," said Montaiglon. "My regard soared
above the clay; I loved her, and I think she was not indifferent to me
till this man came in her way. He had, they say, the devil's tongue;
at least he had the devil's heart, and she died six months ago with her
head on my arm. I could tell you the story, M. le Baron, but it is
in all the books, and you can fancy it easily. She died forgiving her
betrayer, and sending a message to that effect by me. I come to deliver
it, and, by God! to push it to his heart."

"It is a dangerous errand in this country and at this time," said Doom,
looking into the fire.

"Ah! but you did not know Cecile," replied Montaiglon, simply.

"But I know the human heart. I know it in any man under the sober age of
thirty. Better to let it rest thus. Excuse my interference. It does
not matter much to me that it should be out of my house you should go
seek