upejarrets, not far from the St. Denis
gate," I said, still beating about the bush, "at the sign of the Amour
de Dieu. Opposite is a closed house, shuttered with iron from garret
to cellar. You can enter from a court behind. It is here that they
plot."

[Illustration: "WITH A CRY MONSIEUR SPRANG TOWARD ME."]

Monsieur's brows drew together, as if he were trying to recall something
half remembered, half forgotten.

"But the men," he cried, "the men!"

"They are three. One a low fellow named Pontou."

"Pontou? The name is nothing to me. The others?" He was leaning forward
eagerly. I knew of what he was thinking--the quickest way to reach the
Rue Coupejarrets.

"There are two others, Monsieur," I said slowly. "Young men--noble."

I looked at him. But no light whatever had broken in upon him.

"Their names, lad!"

Then, seeing him unsuspecting, the fury in my heart surged up and
covered every other feeling. I burst out:

"Gervais de Grammont and the Comte de Mar."

He looked me in the face, and he knew I was telling the truth.
Unexpected as it was, hideous as it was, yet he knew I was telling the
truth.

I had seen cowards turn pale, but never the colour washed from a brave
man's face. The sight made my fingers itch to strangle that gray-eyed
cheat.

With a cry Monsieur sprang toward me.

"You lie, you cur!"

"No, Monsieur," I gasped; "it is the truth."

He let me go then, and laid his hand on the collar of the dog, who had
sprung to his aid. But Monsieur had got a hurt from which the dumb
beast's loyalty could not defend him. He stood with bowed head, a man
stricken to the heart's core. Full of wrath as I was, the tears came to
my eyes for Monsieur.

He recovered himself.

"It is some damnable mistake! You have been tricked!"

My rage blazed up again.

"No! They tricked me once. Not again! Not this time. I knew not who they
were till now, when I talked with Marcel. The two things fitted."

"Then it is your guess! You dare to say--"

"No, I know!" I interrupted rudely, too excited to remember respect.
"Shall I tell what these men were like? I had never seen M. le Comte nor
M. de Grammont before. One was broad-shouldered and heavy, with a black
beard and a black scowl, whom the other called Gervais. The younger was
called Etienne, tall and slender, with gray eyes and fair hair. And like
Monsieur!" I cried, suddenly aware of it. "Mordieu, how he is like,
though he is light! In face, in voice, in