il had
befallen you."

"Ah, Louis, you are living,--thank God!"

"Living, yes: I have been asleep. Once I awoke, and wondered why you bad
not returned. I prayed for you, and then I must have slept again. But
what was it awakened me?--was there not a loud noise before I heard your
voice?--Who are those men at the door with torches?"

I introduced my father, who, regarding her in the torchlight, and
showing as tender a solicitude as a woman's, soon came to the conclusion
that her state was no worse than one of extreme weakness for want of
food and fresh air. He carried her out, laid her tenderly on a cloak,
and administered such food and wine as were good for her. She submitted
with the docility and trust of a child.

Leaving her for awhile, my father and I consulted with the leader of the
guardsmen, and it was decided that the Countess, my father, and I should
pass the night at the tower, the weather being warm and clear. The
guardsmen would return with their prisoners to the scene of their recent
battle, where much was to be put to rights. On the morrow they would
rejoin us, and we should all proceed to Bonneval, where my father's
deposition could be added to the report which the leader of the
arresting party would have to deliver in Paris in lieu of the Count and
Captain themselves.

I could not let the leader go, even for the night, without expressing
the gratitude under which I must ever feel to him, for, though he was
still ignorant of the identity of the Countess, there was no concealing
from him that the supposed youth was a person very near my heart.

"Pouf!" said he, in his manly way; "'tis all chance. I have done nothing
for you, but if I had done much I should have been repaid already in the
acquaintance of Monsieur de la Tournoire."

"A truce to flattery," said my father. "It is I who am the gainer by the
acquaintance of Monsieur Brignan de Brignan."

"Eh! Brignan de Brignan!" I echoed.

"That is this gentleman's name," said my father, wondering at my
surprise. "Have we been so busy that I have not properly made you known
to him before?"

I gazed at the gentleman's moustaches: they were indeed rather longer
than the ordinary. He, too, looked his astonishment at the effect of his
name upon me.

"Pardon me, Monsieur," said I. "I have been staring like a rustic. I owe
you an explanation of my ill manners. I will give it frankly: it may
provide you with laughter. What I am now, I know not, but three