been so outwitted. For myself I did not at once grasp the
position. I did not understand. I could not disentangle myself
in a moment from the belief in which I had entered the house--
that it was Louis de Pavannes' house. But I seemed vaguely to
suspect that Bezers had swept him aside and taken his place. My
first impulse therefore--obeyed on the instant--was to stride to
the Vidame's side and grasp his arm. "What have you done?" I
cried, my voice sounding hoarsely even in my own ears. "What
have you done with M. de Pavannes? Answer me!"

He showed just a little more of his sharp white teeth as he
looked down at my face--a flushed and troubled face doubtless.
"Nothing--yet," he replied very mildly. And he shook me off.

"Then," I retorted, "how do you come here?"

He glanced at Croisette and shrugged his shoulders, as if I had
been a spoiled child. "M. Anne does not seem to understand," he
said with mock courtesy, "that I have the honour to welcome him
to my house the Hotel Bezers, Rue de Platriere."

"The Hotel Bezers! Rue de Platriere!" I cried confusedly. "But
Blaise Bure told us that this was the Rue St. Antoine!"

"Ah!" he replied as if slowly enlightened--the hypocrite! "Ah!
I see!" and he smiled grimly. "So you have made the
acquaintance of Blaise Bure, my excellent master of the horse!
Worthy Blaise! Indeed, indeed, now I understand. And you
thought, you whelps," he continued, and as he spoke his tone
changed strangely, and he fixed us suddenly with angry eyes, "to