urely
possess such things, as no great house is ever without them. You will
thereupon write a note to the Count, saying we are two gentlemen who
have met on our travels, and both claiming to be skilled chess-players,
and hating to part without a trial of prowess, but lacking chessmen, we
take upon ourselves to ask if he may have such a thing as a set which he
will allow us the use of for half a day; and so forth. We will bid the
woman at the cabaret take this note to the porter; and then we have but
to await the result."

"And what will that be?"

"We shall see when it comes," said the man tranquilly. I know not
whether he really felt the serene confidence he showed; but he seemed to
be going on the sure ground of past experience. "It will be necessary to
give names and some account of ourselves, no doubt, before all is done.
We shall not be expected to know anything of each other, having only met
as travellers so recently. To the Count I will call myself Monsieur de
Pepicot, a poor gentleman of Amiens. As for you, is there any reason why
you shouldn't use your own name? When you want to deceive anybody, it is
well to be strictly truthful as far as your object will permit."

"The only reason is, that I may get into the Count's bad graces by what
I may do in his house, and it would be better if he didn't know where to
look for me afterwards."

"Well, there's something in that. The Count is not a forgiving man. And
yet, as to his power of revenge, I know not--Well, do as you please."

"Oh, devil take it, I'll go under my own name, let come what may! I
don't like the idea of masquerading."

"A brave young gentleman! Then there's no more to be said. When we are
inside the chateau, it will be each of us for himself, though of course
we must keep up the comedy of wishing to play chess. Meet me by chance
at the cabaret, then, in about an hour."

Without any more ado, he left me. Coming forth from the concealed place
a minute later, I saw him strolling along the river, looking at the
fields and the sky, as if nothing else were on his mind. I presently
imitated him, but went in another direction. In due time I made my way
to the cabaret, and there he was, at the table where I had first seen
him.

We spoke to each other as had been arranged, and easily carried the
conversation to the desired point, mostly in the hearing of the woman of
the cabaret as she sat knitting by the door. When it came to writing the
note, the lo