opened the door, and ushered us into the eating-room.

Some preparations for our meal had already been made at one end
of the long board. At the other was seated a man past middle
age; richly but simply dressed. His grey hair, cut short about a
massive head, and his grave, resolute face, square-jawed, and
deeply-lined, marked him as one to whom respect was due apart
from his clothes. We bowed to him as we took our seats.

He acknowledged the salute, fixing us a moment with a penetrating
glance; and then resumed his meal. I noticed that his sword and
belt were propped against a chair at his elbow, and a dag,
apparently loaded, lay close to his hand by the candlestick. Two
lackeys waited behind his chair, wearing the badge we had
remarked in the inn yard.

We began to talk, speaking in low tones that we might not disturb
him. The attack on Coligny had, if true, its bearing on our own
business. For if a Huguenot so great and famous and enjoying the
king's special favour still went in Paris in danger of his life,
what must be the risk that such an one as Pavannes ran? We had
hoped to find the city quiet. If instead it should be in a state
of turmoil Bezers' chances were so much the better; and ours
--and Kit's, poor Kit's--so much the worse.

Our companion had by this time finished his supper. But he still
sat at table, and seemed to be regarding us with some curiosity.
At length he spoke. "Are you going to Paris, young gentlemen?"
he asked, his tone harsh and high-pitched.