eplied.

'Then tell me--it is a tale I am sure worth the telling. What was it
that, in a very evil hour for me, sent you in search of me?'

'My Lord Cardinal,' I answered

'I did not ask who,' he replied drily. 'I asked, what. You had no grudge
against me?'

'No.'

'No knowledge of me?'

'No.'

'Then what on earth induced you to do it? Heavens! man,' he continued
bluntly, and speaking with greater freedom than he had before used,
'Nature never intended you for a tipstaff. What was it then?'

I rose. It was very late, and the room was empty, the fire low.

'I will tell you--to-morrow,' I said. 'I shall have something to say to
you then, of which that will be part.'

He looked at me in great astonishment, and with a little suspicion.
But I called for a light, and by going at once to bed, cut short his
questions. In the morning we did not meet until it was time to start.

Those who know the south road to Agen, and how the vineyards rise in
terraces north of the town, one level of red earth above another, green
in summer, but in late autumn bare and stony, may remember a particular
place where the road, two leagues from the town, runs up a steep hill.
At the top of the hill four roads meet; and there, plain to be seen
against the sky, is a finger-post indicating which way leads to
Bordeaux, and which to old tiled Montauban, and which to Perigueux.

This hill had impressed me greatly on my journey south; perhaps because
I had enjoyed from it my first extended view of the Garonne Valley, and
had there felt myself on the verge of the south country where my mission
lay. It had taken root in my memory, so that I had come to look upon its
bare rounded head, with the guide-post and the four roads, as the first
outpost of Paris, as the first sign of return to the old life.

Now for two days I had been looking forward to seeing it again, That
long stretch of road would do admirably for something I had in my
mind. That sign-post, with the roads pointing north, south, east, and
west--could there be a better place for meetings and partings?

We came to the bottom of the ascent about an hour before noon, M. de
Cocheforet, Mademoiselle, and I. We had reversed the order of yesterday,
and I rode ahead; they came after at their leisure. Now, at the foot
of the hill I stopped, and letting Mademoiselle pass on, detained M. de
Cocheforet by a gesture.

'Pardon me, one moment,' I said. 'I want to ask a favour.'

He looked at