"I have to tell you, monsieur," I said very gravely, "that you stand in imminent peril. Your country is at war with Spain. ’Tis believed that monsieur the Count is in treasonable correspondence with the Spanish court. ’Tis known that you are conveying a subsidy to an officer of their navy, and there are charges of even graver import, which in sum bring your father within danger of the extreme penalty." The hue of the lad’s face altered to an ashen colour, and he caught his breath. "It is false, abominably false, monsieur," he gasped. "Pray God it be so, monsieur!" said I, pitying him. "The unhappy fact is that papers of suspicious tenor have been discovered among your baggage, and ’tis only by good luck that I am able to warn you in time. Examine your papers. You will find that search has been made during your absence, and documents incriminating in character have been abstracted." Trembling with fear the lad hastened to his own room, and came back in as great a panic as ever I saw. "It is an error, monsieur," he cried; "my father is no traitor: he can explain. Mon Dieu! what can I do?" "I will tell you, monsieur," I said. "Be assured that I acquit you of all guilty knowledge. The affair is known only to myself and one other whose silence I can command, and do you but follow my counsel you will be safe. Having fought in the army of Navarre, and being beholden to King Henry, I cannot suffer you to quit France; you will not voyage to Spain. But neither can I proceed over harshly against one so youthful. You were best hasten directly to Paris, and resume your studies there. You will pass me your word not to communicate with your father until I give you leave. He will be in no anxiety concerning you, believing you gone to Seville. But I warn you that if you, directly or indirectly, communicate with him, or with any one whatsoever in Spain, I will not answer for the sea of troubles whereinto both you and he will be plunged. I trust that things are not wholly what they seem, and be sure that none will more greatly rejoice than I if it be proved that the escutcheon of your house is without stain." "I thank you, monsieur," said the lad brokenly. "I will do your behest in all points, sure, as I am, that time will bear me out." "Stay," I said, as he made to quit the room; "are you known at the port, monsieur?" "Nay, I have never travelled by sea," he replied, wondering. "You are skilled in medicine," I proceeded, "and without doubt can name some authentic treatise wherein one ignorant of the art can gain some inkling of its mysteries." "Assuredly, monsieur," said he, "there is none to be compared with the great work of Ambrose Parey, the renowned chirurgeon of King Henry III. I have it in the original Latin, and shall esteem myself honoured if you will accept it at my hand."