money-broker or a corn-merchant."

"My business is to trade in as much money as I can," said the elder,
smiling. "As to your accommodation we will try to serve you. It is but a
short walk from hence to the village. Let me know your name, and follow
me."

"My true name when at home is Quentin Durward," said the youth.

Proceeding along a path they came in sight of the whole front of the
Castle of Plessis-les-Tours.

"I have some friend to see in this quarter," said Durward. "My mother's
own brother, Ludovic Lesly--an honest and noble name."

"And so it is I doubt not," said the old man. "But of three Leslies in
the Scottish Guard two are called Ludovic."

"They call my kinsman Ludovic with the Scar," said Quentin.

"The man you speak of we, I think, call Le Balafré; from that scar on
his face," answered his companion. "A proper man and a good soldier. Men
call me Maître Pierre--a plain man. I owe you a breakfast, Master Quentin,
for the wetting my mistake procured you."

While they were speaking they reached the entrance of the village of
Plessis, and presently approached the court-yard of an inn of unusual
magnitude.

Maître Pierre lifted the latch of the side door, and led the way into a