e gone to Nantes, what clue have we as to where they
may be lodged?"

"They have gone to my brother, Jean Perigord, who keeps an inn on the
Quai La Fosse called the 'Great Gun.'"

"Can your brother be trusted?" asked Monsieur de Beaujardin, somewhat
anxiously.

"He is as true as steel, monseigneur," was the reply, "yet so simple
that a child may cheat him--so much the worse for him, poor fellow!"

"Sit down and write to him as I shall dictate," said the marquis.

Perigord did so, and his master read over what he had written. "You
have been an attached and faithful servant to me, Perigord," said the
marquis, "and you have now done to me and mine a service which I shall
certainly never forget," and with these words he took the old man's
hand and grasped it with undisguised emotion.

"Ah, monseigneur, you are too good, too condescending to one so humble
as myself," exclaimed the old _chef_, the tears running down his cheeks
as he spoke. "But you have deigned to listen to me. Yes, you will go
to him--you will save my poor young master--is it not so?"

The marquis did not answer, but Perigord knew by the look his old
master gave him that he had not spoken in vain.

Great was the surprise of everybody at the chateau when, soon after
these interviews, Monsieur de Beaujardin gave orders that horses should
be got ready by daybreak on the following morning, as he was about to
make a journey. The marchioness flew to her husband to inquire the
reason of such unusual orders, but he would tell her no more than that
some business called him away, and that he should be absent for a week
at least. He knew that anything he might tell her would soon be wormed
out of her by the baroness, which in the present case might prove most
undesirable. There were, however, others at the chateau who knew their
own interests too well to let Madame de Valricour remain in ignorance
of what was passing. Again she went to the marquis, but he refused to
see her, and even sent so strange a message to her that she augured at
once that something was going wrong, though what it was she could not
ascertain.

In due time the travelling equipage was at the door, but as the marquis
was stepping into it he was informed that his valet, Francois, without
whom he never went half a dozen miles away from Beaujardin, had been
suddenly taken ill and could not possibly attend his master on the
journey. What was to be done? Despite his usual philosophic c