every sign of strength. I noticed
that his fingers seemed to possess great crunching power, and there was
always on his face the faint beginning of a smile which, I thought,
would heighten into glee when those fingers were in the act of
strangling somebody.

As for the Captain, there was indeed a great blotch of deep red across
his cheek; he was a large, powerful fellow, with a bold, insolent face,
and fierce, pitiless eyes. To make his sobriquet the fitter, he wore a
suit of crimson, very rich and ornate. His beard and hair, however, were
black.

"You are welcome, gentlemen," said the Count, in a harsh, thin voice.
"From what part do you come?"

"From different parts," said my long-nosed companion. "We have only met
as strangers going opposite ways. I am Monsieur de Pepicot, of the
neighbourhood of Amiens, travelling to Angers to see some kinsfolk."

The Count turned to me, and I recited my name and place, adding that I
was going to Paris, to see a little of the world, and therefore
journeying somewhat indirectly.

"And behold here Monsieur the Captain Ferragant, who comes from
Burgundy," said the Count, "so that we have North, West, and East all
represented."

Captain Ferragant bowed as politeness required, but he went no further.
He did not seem to relish our being there. His look was rather
disdainful, I thought, as if we were nobodies unfit for the honour of
his company. And very soon, while the Count was saying we must stay to
dinner, as there was not time for a game of chess before, the Captain
walked away and out of the hall. Seeing that we were to be his guests
for the day, the Count had us shown to a rather remote chamber up two
flights of stairs, where water was brought, and where we were left alone
together. The chamber looked out on a small part of the garden at the
rear of the chateau.

"Well," said I, washing my hands, "you have played the magician. It has
been as easy as walking, to get into the chateau."

"Will it be easy to get out again, when our business is done, I wonder?"
replied Monsieur de Pepicot, gazing out of the window at the distant
high wall of the garden.

"Why do you say that?" I asked, a little surprised at his tone.

"Oh, I was thinking of the manner in which the gate slammed to, after we
had entered. It is a mere inanimate gate, to be sure, but it was slammed
by a porter, and his manner of slamming it might unconsciously express
what was in his mind. You remember, the Coun