As he drew nearer he
cast an attentive eye this way and that; nor stayed until a hoarse
challenge brought him up when he had come within six horses' lengths of
the Arsenal gate. He reined up then, and raising his voice, asked in
clear tones for M. de Biron.

"Go," he continued boldly, "tell the Grand Master that one from the King
is here, and would speak with him."

"From the King of France?" the officer on the gate asked.

"Surely! Is there more than one king in France?"

A curse and a bitter cry of "King? King Herod!" were followed by a
muttered discussion that, in the ears of one of the two who waited in the
gloom below, boded little good. The two could descry figures moving to
and fro before the faint red light of the smouldering matches; and
presently a man on the gate kindled a torch, and held it so as to fling
its light downward. The stranger's attendant cowered behind the horse.

"Have a care, my lord!" he whispered. "They are aiming at us!"

If so the rider's bold front and unmoved demeanour gave them pause.
Presently, "I will send for the Grand Master" the man who had spoken
before announced. "In whose name, monsieur?"

"No matter," the stranger answered. "Say, one from the King."

"You are alone?"

"I shall enter alone."

The assurance seemed to be satisfactory, for the man answered "Good!" and
after a brief delay a wicket in the gate was opened, the portcullis
creaked upward, and a plank was thrust across the ditch. The horseman
waited until the preparations were complete; then he slid to the ground,
threw his rein to the servant, and boldly walked across. In an instant
he left behind him the dark street, the river, and the sounds of outrage,
which the night breeze bore from the farther bank, and found himself
within the vaulted gateway, in a bright glare of light, the centre of a
ring of gleaming eyes and angry faces.

The light blinded him for a few seconds; but the guards, on their side,
were in no better case. For the stranger was masked; and in their
ignorance who it was looked at them through the slits in the black velvet
they stared, disconcerted, and at a loss. There were some there with
naked weapons in their hands who would have struck him through had they
known who he was; and more who would have stood aside while the deed was
done. But the uncertainty--that and the masked man's tone paralyzed
them. For they reflected that he might be anyone. Conde, indeed, stood
too