he?"

I followed the direction of the lad's finger--as well as I could
for the plunging of my horse which Bure's had frightened--and
scrutinized the last pair of the troop. They were crossing the
street in which we stood, and I had only a side view of them; or
rather of the nearer rider. He was a singularly handsome man, in
age about twenty-two or twenty-three with long lovelocks falling
on his lace collar and cloak of orange silk. His face was sweet
and kindly and gracious to a marvel. But he was a stranger to
me.

"I could have sworn," exclaimed Croisette, "that that was Louis
himself--M. de Pavannes!"

"That?" I answered, as we began to move again, the crowd melting
before us. "Oh, dear, no!"

"No! no! The farther man!" he explained.

But I had not been able to get a good look at the farther of the
two. We turned in our saddles and peered after him. His back in
the dusk certainly reminded me of Louis. Bure, however, who said
he knew M. de Pavannes by sight, laughed at the idea. "Your
friend," he said, "is a wider man than that!" And I thought he
was right there--but then it might be the cut of the clothes.
"They have been at the Louvre playing paume, I'll be sworn!" he
went on. "So the Admiral must be better. The one next us was M.
de Teligny, the Admiral's son-in-law. And the other, whom you
mean, was the Comte de la Rochefoucault."