me, Monsieur St. Georges, this evening, why his Most
Christian Majesty should have thought fit through Louvois to direct
you to stay at my house in Dijon? I shall not see you to-morrow ere
you depart; let me therefore be frank. The king--and Louvois also--are
in correspondence with me on a political matter, which must not even
be trusted to the post, nor to courier, nor messenger. Nay, we do not
even write what we have to say, but, instead, correspond by words and
signs. Now, you are a trusty man--you will go far--already I see your
captaincy of a troop looming up before you. Therefore I will send by
you one word and one alone. You cannot forget it, for it is perhaps
the simplest in our or any language. You will convey it?"

"I am the king's servant. What is the word, monseigneur?"

"The word '_Yes_.'"

"The word '_Yes_,'" the _chevau-leger_ repeated. "The word '_Yes_.'
That is it? No more?"

"Nothing more. Simply the word '_Yes_.' Yet stay, remember my
instructions. The word is sent as much to Louvois as to the king. It
is a common message to both. And there is one other thing. The
Marquise de Roquemaure is also concerned in this matter; she will
without doubt ask you what the word is I have sent. And, monsieur,
there is no need of secrecy with her. You may frankly tell her."

Again with military precision the other made sure of his instructions.

"I may say that the word you send is '_Yes_'?"

"Precisely."

"I shall remember."

And now, Pierre coming in, the bishop bade him farewell and
good-night.

"The bed, I trust," he said, addressing the servant, "is as
comfortable as may be under the circumstances. Also properly aired.
For Monsieur St. Georges must sleep well to-night. He rides to Troyes
to-morrow or as far upon his road as he can get. He must sleep well."

"So! he rides to Troyes to-morrow," repeated the domestic,
surlily--"to Troyes, eh? And at what hour does Monsieur St. Georges
set forth? I must know, so that he shall be called."

"At daybreak," St. Georges replied.

The man led him after this up some great stairs, evidently the
principal ones of the mansion, and past what were the chief salons,
holding the lantern he carried above his head all the way and casting
thereby weird shadows on to walls and corners. Then up another flight
they went--their feet echoing now on the bare, uncarpeted stairs, and
so along a corridor until at the end the man opened a door and ushered
the guest into a mod