"He will be surprised to see us," quoth Croisette, laughing--a
little shyly, too, I think. And so we stood waiting.

I began to wonder as minutes passed by--the gay company we had
seen putting it in my mind, I suppose--whether M. de Pavannes, of
Paris, might not turn out to be a very different person from
Louis de Pavannes, of Caylus; whether the king's courtier would
be as friendly as Kit's lover. And I was still thinking of this
without having settled the point to my satisfaction, when the
curtain was thrust aside again. A very tall man, wearing a
splendid suit of black and silver and a stiff trencher-like ruff,
came quickly in, and stood smiling at us, a little dog in his
arms. The little dog sat up and snarled: and Croisette gasped.
It was not our old friend Louis certainly! It was not Louis de
Pavannes at all. It was no old friend at all, It was the Vidame
de Bezers!

"Welcome, gentlemen!" he said, smiling at us--and never had the
cast been so apparent in his eyes. "Welcome to Paris, M. Anne!"



CHAPTER IV.

ENTRAPPED!

There was a long silence. We stood glaring at him, and he smiled
upon us--as a cat smiles. Croisette told me afterwards that he
could have died of mortification--of shame and anger that we had