ire I could ask.

"What mean you, whelp?"

"I mean mademoiselle. What else should I mean?"

"What do you know?"

"Everything."

"Her whereabouts?"

"Her whereabouts."

He had his hand to his knife by this. I abated somewhat of my drawl to
say, still airily:

"Go ask M. de St. Quentin. He's here. He'll be so glad to see you."

"Here?"

"Certes. He's closeted now with M. de Mayenne. They're thicker than
brothers. Go see for yourself, M.--Lucas."

"Where is mademoiselle?"

"Safe. She's to marry the Comte de Mar to-morrow."

He stared at me for one moment, weighing whether this could be true;
then without further parley he shot into the house.

"Is that true?" d'Auvray demanded.

Their tongues loosened now, they flooded me with questions concerning
mademoiselle, which I answered warily as I could, heartily repenting me
by this of baiting Lucas. No good could come of it. He might even turn
Mayenne from his bargain, upset all our triumph. I hardly heard what the
soldiers said to me; I was almost nervous enough, wild enough, to dash
up-stairs after him. But that was no help. I stayed where I was, fevered
with anxiety.

At the end of five minutes he came out of the house again, and, without
a glance at us, went straight through the gate with the step and air of
a man who knows what he is about. I was no easier in my mind though I
saw him gone.

Soon on his steps came a lackey to order M. de St. Quentin's horses and
two musketeers to mount and ride with him. On reaching the door with the
nags, I discovered I was not to be of the party; our second steed must
carry gear of mademoiselle's and her handwoman, a hard-faced peasant,
silent as a stone. Though the men quizzed her, asking if she were glad
to get to her mistress again, whether she had known all this time the
lady's whereabouts, she answered no single word, but busied herself
seeing the horse loaded to her notion. Presently, in the guidance of
Pierre, Monsieur appeared.

"You stay, Felix, and go to the Bastille for your master. Then you will
wait at the St. Denis gate for Vigo, with horses."

"Is all right, Monsieur?" I had to ask, as I held his stirrup. "Is all
right? Lucas--"

His face had been a little clouded as he came down the stairs, and now
it darkened more, but he answered:

"Quite right, Achates. M. de Mayenne stands to his word. Lucas availed
nothing."

He stood a moment frowning, then his countenance cleared up.

"My faith! I hav