, I will
play him for you and win you: I will redeem you. After all, it is
simple, absolutely simple."

"He will not play for me," the young man answered despondently.
Nevertheless he suffered himself to be borne onwards. "What will you set
against me?"

"Anything, everything!" his new friend cried recklessly. "Myself, if
necessary. Courage, M. de Bazan, courage! What Crillon wills, Crillon
does. You do not know me yet, but I have taken a fancy to you, I
have!"--He swore a grisly oath. "And I will make you mine."

He gave the young man no time for further objection, but, holding him
firmly by the arm, he hurried him through the streets to the door below
the two gables. On this he knocked with the air of one who had been
there before, and to whom all doors opened. In the momentary pause
before it yielded Bazan spoke. "Will you not be in danger here?" he
asked, wondering much.

"It is a Guise house? True, it is. But there is danger everywhere. No
man dies more than once or before God wills it! And I am Crillon!"

The superb air with which he said this last prepared Bazan for what
followed. The moment the door was opened, Crillon pushed through the
doorway, and with an assured step strode down the passage. He turned the
corner of the screen and stood in the room; and, calmly smiling at the
group of startled, astonished faces which were turned on him, he drew
off his cloak and flung it over his left arm. His height at all times
made him a conspicuous figure; this night he was fresh from court. He
wore black and silver, the hilt of his long sword was jewelled, the
Order of the Holy Ghost glittered on his breast; and this fine array
seemed to render more shabby the pretentious finery of the third-rate
adventurers before him. He saluted them coolly. "It is a wet night,
gentlemen," he said.

Some of those who sat farthest off had risen, and all had drawn together
as sheep club at sight of the wolf. One of them answered sullenly that
it was.

"You think I intrude, gentlemen?" he returned, smiling pleasantly,
drinking in as homage the stir his entrance had caused. For he was vain.
"I want only an old friend, M. Michel Berthaud, who is here, I think?"

"And for what do you want him?" the tall dark player answered
defiantly; he alone of those present seemed in a degree a match for the
new-comer, though even his gloomy eyes fell before Crillon's easy stare.
"For what do you want me?"

"To propose a little game to you," C