in mind. "For me, my friend, I go in mail to-night," he said. "There
will be many a score paid before morning, besides his Majesty's. And
many a left-handed blow will be struck in the _melee_!"

The other crossed himself. "Grant none light here!" he said devoutly.
And with a last look he nodded and went out.

In the doorway he jostled a person who was in the act of entering. It
was M. de Tignonville, who, seeing Nancay at his elbow, saluted him, and
stood looking round. The young man's face was flushed, his eyes were
bright with unwonted excitement.

"M. de Rochefoucauld?" he asked eagerly. "He has not left yet?"

Nancay caught the thrill in his voice, and marked the young man's flushed
face and altered bearing. He noted, too, the crumpled paper he carried
half-hidden in his hand; and the Captain's countenance grew dark. He
drew a step nearer, and his hand reached softly for his dagger. But his
voice, when he spoke, was smooth as the surface of the pleasure-loving
Court, smooth as the externals of all things in Paris that summer
evening.

"He is here still," he said. "Have you news, M. de Tignonville?"

"News?"

"For M. de Rochefoucauld?"

Tignonville laughed. "No," he said. "I am here to see him to his
lodging, that is all. News, Captain? What made you think so?"