likely that any harm would befall the
maids so long as their captor remained in Paris--that is, none which
had not already overtaken them on their journey as prisoners on board
the marshal's ships.

So the Hotel de Pornic and its inhabitants remained under the strict
espionage of Sholto and Lord James, while up in the garret in the Rue
des Ursulines Laurence nursed his brother clerk and Malise sat
gloomily polishing and repolishing the weapons and secret armour of
the party.

It was the evening of the third day before the "clout" showed signs
of healing. Its recipient had been conscious on the second day, but,
finding himself a prisoner in the hands of the enemy, he had been
naturally enough inclined to be a little sulky and suspicious. But the
bright carelessness of Laurence, who dashed at any speech in idiomatic
but ungrammatical outlander's French, gradually won upon him. As also
the fact that Laurence was clerk-learned and could sing and play upon
the viol with surprising skill for one so young.

The prisoner never tired of watching the sunny curls upon the brow of
Laurence MacKim, as he wandered about trying the benches, the chairs,
and even the floor in a hundred attitudes in search of a comfortable
position.

"Ah," the sallow youth said at last, one afternoon as he lay on his
pallet, "you should be one of the choristers of my master's chapel.
You can sing like an angel!"

"Well," laughed Laurence in reply, "I would be indeed content, if he
be a good master, and if in his house it snoweth wherewithal to eat
and drink. But tell me what unfortunate may have the masterage of so
profitless a servant as yourself?"

"I am the poor gentleman Gilles de Sille of the household of the
Marshal de Retz!" answered the swarthy youth, readily.

"De Silly indeed to bide with such a master!" quoth Laurence, with his
usual prompt heedlessness of consequences.

The sallow youth with his bandaged head did not understand the poor
jest, but, taking offence at the tone, he instantly reared himself on
his elbow and darted a look at Laurence from under brows so lowering
and searching that Laurence fell back in mock terror.

"Nay," he cried, shaking at the knees and letting his hands swing
ludicrously by his sides, "do not affright a poor clerk! If you look
at me like that I will call the cook from yonder eating-stall to
protect me with his basting-ladle. I wot if he fetches you one on the
other side of your cracked sconce, you