But to reach him is uncertain; what he can or
will do, uncertain. Etienne de Mar is not Villeroi's son; he is mine."

"Aye, it is your business," Rosny assented. "It is yours to take your
way."

"A mad way, but mine. But come, now, Rosny, you must admit that once or
twice, when all your wiseacres were deadlocked, my madness has served."

Rosny took Monsieur's hand in a silent grip.

"Maximilien," the duke said, smiling down on him, "what a pity you are a
scamp of a heretic!"

"Henri," Rosny returned gravely, "I would you had had the good fortune
to be born in the Religion."

Again he wished us God-speed, and we gathered up our reins. As we turned
the corner I glanced back to find him still standing as we had left him,
gazing soberly after us.

The man who was going into the lion's den was far less solemn over it.
By fits and starts, as he thought on his son's great danger, he
contrived a gloomy countenance: but Monsieur had ridden all his life
with Hope on the pillion; she did not desert him now. As we cantered
steadily along in the fresh, cool morning, he already pictured M.
Etienne released. However mad he acknowledged his errand to be, I think
he was scarce visited by a doubt of its success. It was impossible to
him that his son should not be saved.

We entered with perfect ease the gate of Paris, and took our way without
hesitancy through the busiest streets. Nowhere did the guard spring on
us, but, instead, more than once, the passers-by gathered in knots, the
tradesmen and artisans ran out of their shops to cheer St. Quentin, to
cheer France, to cheer peace, to cheer to the echo the Catholic king.

"I hope Mayenne hears them," Monsieur said to me, doffing his hat to a
big farrier who had come out of his smithy waving impudently in the eye
of all the world the white flag of the king.

We kept a brisk pace alike where they cheered us and where, in other
streets, they scowled and hooted at us, so that I looked out for men
with pistols in second-story windows. But, friend or foe, none stopped
us till at length we drew rein before the grilles of the Hotel de
Lorraine.

They made no demur at admitting us. Monsieur went into the house, while
I led the horses to the stables, where three or four grooms at once
volunteered to rub them down, in eagerness to pump their guardian. But
before the fellows had had time to get much out of me came Jean
Marchand, all unrecognizing, to summon me indoors. I followed him i