hat
the tones were not his gruff ones.

"He has gone forth to one of the bishop's farms at Pouilly. He bade me
call monsieur."

"And the bishop?"

"Monseigneur is not yet risen. There is a meal prepared for monsieur
below, if he will partake of it."

Monsieur so far partook of it on descending--after he had made a rapid
toilet, cleaned his sword by passing the folds of his cloak over it,
and (good soldier as he was!) having said a prayer at his bedside ere
leaving the room--as to drink a cup of thick, lukewarm chocolate. But
beyond this he would wait no longer, being very anxious to regain the
custody of his child. Also he thought that the "Ours" would offer a
more satisfying meal than that now set before him, which, in truth,
was nothing but the selfsame chocolate, some bread, and a
half-finished _saucisson_ which did not look particularly appetizing.

Therefore he tossed on the table a silver crown to the
miserable-looking old woman who had called him, and who afterward
escorted him downstairs, and, following her across the more than ever
snow-covered courtyard, emerged on to the great _place_.

And still, as he observed, the snow fell, must have been falling all
night, since it lay upon this open space in great tussocks, or mounds,
while across the _place_ itself no footmark was to be seen. It was,
indeed, as though a vast white sea stretched from the house of
Phelypeaux over to where the "Ours" stood.

Beneath a dull leaden canopy of cloud the wintry day was, however,
coming; from the chimneys of the inn he could see the smoke, scarcely
more dull and leaden than that canopy itself, rising; at the door of
the inn he saw the mousquetaire standing, looking up at what should
have been the heavens.

"Is all well?" he asked as he drew close to him now. "Have you seen
the child?"

"All well, monsieur," the other replied, saluting as he spoke--"all
well, both with child and horse. Yet, _ma foi!_ what a day for a
journey! Must monsieur, indeed, continue his?"

"Ay!" replied St. Georges, "I must. My orders are to pause no longer
than necessary on the route to Paris, to report myself to the Minister
of War, the Marquis de Louvois." Then turning to the mousquetaire, he
asked: "What are your orders? Do you ride toward Bar to-day?"

"Since monsieur proceeds, so do I. Yet I doubt if we get even so far
as Bar. _Ciel!_ will the snow ever cease to fall?"

But in spite of the snow, in half an hour both were ready to se