probably he would not. Still, monsieur might enter.

Garnache cut him short before he had half done, announced his name
and bade him convey it to Rabecque. The alacrity with which the lackey
stirred from his bed upon hearing who it was that had arrived impressed
the host not a little, but not half so much as it impressed him
presently to observe the deference with which this great Monsieur
Rabecque of Paris confronted the scarecrow below stairs when he was
brought into its presence.

"You are safe and sound, monsieur?" he cried, in deferential joy.

"Aye, by a miracle, mon fils," Garnache answered him, with a short
laugh. "Help me to bed; then bring me a cup of spiced wine. I have swum
a moat and done other wonders in these clothes."

The host and Rabecque bustled now to minister to his wants between them,
and when, jaded and worn, Garnache lay at last between good-smelling
sheets with the feeling in him that he was like to sleep until the day
of judgment, he issued his final orders.

"Awake me at daybreak, Rabecque," said he drowsily. "We must be stirring
then. Have horse ready and clothes for me. I shall need you to wash me
clean and shave me and make me what I was before your tricks and dyes
turned me into what I have been this week and more. Take away the light.
At daybreak! Don't let me sleep beyond that as you value your place with
me. We shall have brisk work to-morrow. At--daybreak--Rabecque!"

CHAPTER XX. FLORIMOND DE CONDILLAC

It was noon of the next day when two horsemen gained the heights above
La Rochette and paused to breathe their nags and take a survey of the
little township in the plain at their feet. One of these was Monsieur
de Garnache, the other was his man Rabecque. But it was no longer the
travestied Garnache that Condillac had known as "Battista" during the
past days, it was that gentleman as he had been when first he presented
himself at the chateau. Rabecque had shaved him, and by means of certain
unguents had cleansed his skin and hair of the dyes with which he had
earlier overlaid them.

That metamorphosis, of itself, was enough to set Garnache in a good
humour; he felt himself again, and the feeling gave him confidence.
His mustachios bristled as fiercely as of old, his skin was clear and
healthy, and his dark brown hair showed ashen at the temples. He
was becomingly arrayed in a suit of dark brown camlet, with rows of
close-set gold buttons running up his hanging sleeves;