wed him upstairs.

It was a poor enough place when he got there, in keeping with the
whole of the house--a room in which there was a bed in one corner and
a chair in another, and with some washing utensils in a third, but
nothing more.

"Call me at daybreak," he said to the man Andre. "I shall sleep until
then if I can. Then I must be on my way to--Paris."

"_Si, si_," the other replied. "You shall be called," and he went
toward the door, though, both there and before, he did not cease to
glance furtively at him. These glances had not been unobserved,
however, by St. Georges, who in his turn had been equally watching him
to see if any absolute recognition appeared to dawn upon him. And now,
as the man prepared to depart and leave him alone, he said, speaking
as carelessly as possible:

"Well! you thought you knew my face, friend. Have you been able to
recall yet where you saw it last?" and he looked him straight in the
eyes.

But the other only shook his head, and grumbled out:

"No, no. I cannot remember. Perhaps--it may be--I am mistaken."

CHAPTER XXVI.

IN THE SNARE.

Had St. Georges followed the impulse that first occurred to him when
he recognised the man Andre, he would have made some excuse for not
remaining a night in Bayeux, but would have proceeded at once on his
journey to Troyes--though not to Paris as he had said, only with a
desire to throw dust in his late oppressor's eyes. For to Paris he had
no intention of going under any circumstances, deeming it likely to be
full of danger to him. There he would be known to countless military
men; he might be seen at any moment and recognised; and the result
would, in all likelihood, be ruinous. He meant, however, to proceed
some distance toward it and then to strike into another road, and so,
leaving the capital a little to the north of him, reach Troyes. He
thought he could do this by branching off at Evreux and passing
through Fontainebleau, but at present he was not even sure that this
would be the direction to take--was, indeed, uncertain if such a
course would lead him to the goal he sought, though he believed it
would.

But the impulse to quit Andre's auberge had to be resisted at once as
soon as it arose--to follow it would be fraught with, possibly, as
much danger as remaining there for a night. For if Andre really
suspected who he was, he would not permit him to quit Bayeux--not at
least without extorting something from him for his si