hes
bristling as the result of the scornful twist he gave his lips. "To
think that I should have a hand in bringing tears to the eyes of that
sweet lady! Quelle besogne! Bon Dieu, quelle besogne!"

I laughed at the distress vented in that whimsical Gascon tongue of his,
whereupon he eyed me in a wonder that was tempered with admiration. For
to his brave soul a gentleman so stoical as to laugh under such parlous
circumstances was very properly a gentleman to be admired.

CHAPTER X. THE RISEN DEAD

It was close upon ten o'clock as we rode into the yard of the imposing
Hotel de la Couronne at Grenade.

Castelroux engaged a private room on the first floor--a handsome chamber
overlooking the courtyard--and in answer to the inquiries that I made
I was informed by the landlord that Monsieur de Marsac was not yet
arrived.

"My assignation was 'before noon,' Monsieur de Castelroux," said I.
"With your permission, I would wait until noon."

He made no difficulty. Two hours were of no account. We had all risen
very early, and he was, himself, he said, entitled to some rest.

Whilst I stood by the window it came to pass than a very tall,
indifferently apparelled gentleman issued from the hostelry and halted
for some moments in conversation with the ostler below. He walked with
an enfeebled step, and leaned heavily for support upon a stout cane. As
he turned to reenter the inn I had a glimpse of a face woefully pale,
about which, as about the man's whole figure, there was a something
that was familiar--a something that puzzled me, and on which my mind was
still dwelling when presently I sat down to breakfast with Castelroux.

It may have been a half-hour later, and, our meal being at an end, we
were sitting talking--I growing impatient the while that this Monsieur
de Marsac should keep me waiting so--when of a sudden the rattle
of hoofs drew me once more to the window. A gentleman, riding very
recklessly, had just dashed through the porte-cochere, and was in the
act of pulling up his horse. He was a lean, active man, very richly
dressed, and with a face that by its swarthiness of skin and the sable
hue of beard and hair looked almost black.

"Ah, you are there!" he cried, with something between a snarl and a
laugh, and addressing somebody within the shelter of the porch. "Par la
mort Dieu, I had hardly looked to find you!"

From the recess of the doorway I heard a gasp of amazement and a cry of
"Marsac! You here?