t it made
my prospects distinctly gloomy. Anjou possessed much influence at Court,
and the king was hardly likely to quarrel with his brother over the
affairs of an unknown and penniless lad.

Several weeks passed, and even after Cordel's return from Paris I
remained in quiet possession of the castle. I received no papers from
the king, but, on the other hand, no one made any attempt to molest me.
It appeared as if the cloud had passed over without bursting. But I was
yet to learn of what Etienne Cordel was capable.

I was sitting one night alone in my room, reading for the second time a
letter from Jeanne. She wrote very brightly and hopefully. She continued
to be a decided favourite with her royal mistress, and was very happy in
her service. This was good news, as I thought it unwise for her to come
to Le Blanc until my affairs were settled.

She wrote at great length, too, on a subject that was producing much
excitement in Queen Joan's little court. This was a proposal that Henry
of Bearn should marry the king's sister, Margaret. Charles was said to
be eager for the marriage, which was also approved of by the leading
Huguenot gentlemen, but thus far Queen Joan had refused her consent.

"Faith," I said to myself, "nothing could be better; it would give our
party a strong friend at Court. It might help me out of my difficulty
too. I wish the marriage were taking place to-morrow!"

It was a wild night outside; very cold, with a heavy downfall of rain,
while now and then the wind howled round the building in furious gusts.
I had put the letter away, and was sitting down again when some one
knocked at the door. Knowing it must be Jacques, I told him to enter.

"A wild night, Jacques," I remarked. "We have the best of it indoors."

"Truly, monsieur, only those who are forced will ride abroad in weather
like this. But there is one person eager enough for your company to
brave the storm. He has travelled far, too, by the look of his horse."

"A visitor for me! Where is he? Who is it?"

"He is in the courtyard, where, if you take my advice, you will let him
stay. As to who he is, he either has no name or is too shy to tell it.
He is muffled up so closely that one cannot see his face."

"And he will not give his name?"

"He says it is sufficient to tell you he is the writer of the letter
from St. Jean d'Angely."

"It is all right, Jacques. Have the horse put in the stables, and bring
the rider here."

"Is it wis