rds evening we made our
last halt at Fenouillet, whence a couple of hours' riding should bring
us to Toulouse.

At the post-house we overtook a carriage that seemingly had halted for
relays, but upon which I scarce bestowed a glance as I alighted.

Whilst Castelroux went to arrange for fresh horses, I strode into the
common room, and there for some moments I stood discussing the viands
with our host. When at last I had resolved that a cold pasty and a
bottle of Armagnac would satisfy our wants, I looked about me to take
survey of those in the room. One group in a remote corner suddenly
riveted my attention to such a degree that I remained deaf to the voice
of Castelroux, who had just entered, and who stood now beside me. In
the centre of this group was the Comte de Chatellerault himself, a
thick-set, sombre figure, dressed with that funereal magnificence he
affected.

But it was not the sight of him that filled me with amazement. For that,
Castelroux's information had prepared me, and I well understood in what
capacity he was there. My surprise sprang rather from the fact
that amongst the half-dozen gentlemen about him--and evidently in
attendance--I beheld the Chevalier de Saint-Eustache. Now, knowing as I
did, the Chevalier's treasonable leanings, there was ample cause for my
astonishment at finding him in such company. Apparently, too, he was
on very intimate terms with the Count, for in raising my glance I
had caught him in the act of leaning over to whisper familiarly in
Chatellerault's ear.

Their eyes--indeed, for that matter the eyes of the entire company--were
turned in my direction.

Perhaps it was not a surprising thing that Chatellerault should gaze
upon me in that curious fashion, for was it not probable that he had
heard that I was dead? Besides, the fact that I was without a sword, and
that at my side stood a King's officer, afforded evidence enough of
my condition, and well might Chatellerault stare at beholding me so
manifestly a prisoner.

Even as I watched him, he appeared to start at something that
Saint-Eustache was saying, and a curious change spread over his face.
Its whilom expression had been rather one of dismay; for, having
believed me dead, he no doubt accounted his wager won, whereas seeing me
alive had destroyed that pleasant conviction. But now it took on a look
of relief and of something that suggested malicious cunning.

"That," said Castelroux in my ear, "is the King's commissi