at. I was not to succeed in my
enterprise too easily then. That was clear. Still I thought it better
to act as if I had not seen my followers, and collecting myself, I
walked as quickly as I could down to the steps. The three were by that
time close upon me--within striking distance almost. I turned abruptly
and confronted them.

"Who are you, and what do you want?" I said, eyeing them warily, my
hand on my sword.

They did not answer, but separated more widely so as to form a
half-circle: and one of them whistled. On the instant a knot of men
started out of the line of houses, and came quickly across the strip of
light towards us.

The position seemed serious. If I could have run indeed--but I glanced
round, and found escape in that fashion impossible. There were men
crouching on the steps behind me, between me and the river. I had
fallen into a trap. Indeed, there was nothing for it now but to do as
Madame had bidden me, and play the man boldly. I had the words still
ringing in my ears. I had enough of the excitement I had lately felt
still bounding in my veins to give nerve and daring. I folded my arms
and drew myself up.

"Knaves!" I said, with as much quiet contempt as I could muster, "you
mistake me. You do not know whom you have to deal with. Get me a boat,
and let two of you row me across. Hinder me, and your necks shall
answer for it--or your backs!"

A laugh and an oath of derision formed the only response, and before I
could add more, the larger group arrived, and joined the three.

"Who is it, Pierre?" asked one of these in a matter-of-fact way, which
showed I had not fallen amongst mere thieves.

The speaker seemed to be the leader of the band. He had a feather in
his bonnet, and I saw a steel corslet gleam under his cloak, when some
one held up a lanthorn to examine me the better. His trunk-hose were
striped with black, white, and green--the livery as I learned
afterwards of Monsieur the King's brother, the Duke of Anjou,
afterwards Henry the Third; then a close friend of the Duke of Guise,
and later his murderer. The captain spoke with a foreign accent, and
his complexion was dark to swarthiness. His eyes sparkled and flashed
like black beads. It was easy to see that he was an Italian.

"A gallant young cock enough," the soldier who had whistled answered;
"and not quite of the breed we expected." He held his lanthorn towards
me and pointed to the white badge on my sleeve. "