efore midnight, a man issued somewhat suddenly from the
darkness about the head of the Pont du Change and turned the corner into
the Rue de St. Jacques la Boucherie, a street which ran parallel with
the Quays, about half a mile east of the Louvre. His heavy cloak
concealed his figure, but he made his way in the teeth of the wind with
the spring and vigour of youth; and arriving presently at a doorway,
which had the air of retiring modestly under a couple of steep dark
gables, and yet was rendered conspicuous by the light which shone
through the unglazed grating above it, he knocked sharply on the oak.
After a short delay the door slid open of itself and the man entered. He
showed none of a stranger's surprise at the invisibility of the porter,
but after staying to shut the door, he advanced along a short passage,
which was only partially closed at the further end by a high wooden
screen. Coasting round this he entered a large low-roofed room, lighted
in part by a dozen candles, in part by a fire which burned on a raised
iron plate in the corner.

The air was thick with wood smoke, but the occupants of the room, a
dozen men, seated, some at a long table, and some here and there in
pairs, seemed able to recognize the new-comer through it, and hailed his
appearance with a cry of welcome--a cry that had in it a ring of
derision. One man who stood near the fire, impatiently kicking the logs
with his spurred boots, turned, and seeing who it was moved towards him.
"Welcome, M. de Bazan," he said briskly; "so you have come to resume our
duel! I had given up hope of you."

"I am here," the new-comer answered. He spoke curtly, and as he did so
he took off his horseman's cloak and laid it aside. The action disclosed
a man scarcely twenty, moderately well dressed, and of slight though
supple figure. His face wore an air of determination singular in one so
young, and at variance with the quick suspicious glances with which he
took in the scene. He did not waste time in staring, however, but
quickly and with a business-like air he seated himself at a small wooden
table which stood in a warm corner of the hearth, and directly under a
brace of candles. Calling for a bottle of wine, he threw a bag of coin
on the table; at the same time he hitched forward his sword until the
pommel of the weapon lay across his left thigh; a sinister movement
which the debauched and reckless looks of some of his companions seemed
to justify. The man who