Montignac now pointed to the inn, spoke a few last earnest words to Berquin, handed the latter a few gold pieces, cast at him a threatening look at parting, and galloped off to rejoin M. de la Chatre, whose cavalcade was now out of our sight. De Berquin gave him an ironical bow, kissed the gold pieces before pocketing them, dismounted, and entered the inn, replying only with a laugh to the supplicating looks of the moneyless Barbemouche and his hungry-looking comrades on the bench. "Now I wonder what in the devil's name the governor's secretary was saying to that man?" growled Blaise Tripault. For reply, I gave a look which reflected the surmise that I saw in Blaise's own eyes. "Well," I said, "if it be that, the Vicomte de Berquin will be a vastly ingenious gentleman if he can either find our hiding-place, or delude me away from my men. To think that they should have chosen the first mercenary wretch they met on their way! Yet doubtless the perspicacious Montignac knows his man." "The secretary pointed to this inn as if he were telling him that you were here," observed Blaise, meditatively. "But inasmuch as the secretary does not know that I am here," said I, "his pointing to the inn could not have accompanied that information. He was doubtless advising his friend to begin his enterprise with a hearty meal, which was very good advice. And now, as this Vicomte de Berquin does not know me by sight, let us go down and make his acquaintance. Remember that you are the master, and make a better pretence of it than you have usually made." "I pretend the master no worse than you pretend the servant," muttered Blaise, while I opened the door of our chamber. A moment later we were descending the stairs leading to the kitchen. An unexpected sight met our eyes. M. de Berquin stood with his back to a rear door, his arms extended, as if to prevent the departure of the lady, who stood facing him, in the attitude of shrinking back from him. She still wore her mask. Beside her stood her maid, who darted looks of indignation at the smiling De Berquin. These three were the only ones in the kitchen. "I do not know you, monsieur!" the lady was saying, in a low voice of great beauty. "Death of my life! But you shall know me, mademoiselle," replied De Berquin, who had not noticed the entrance of myself and Blaise; "for I intend to guard you from harm on the rest of your journey, whether you will or not!" Blaise shot at me a glance of interrogation. To keep up our assumed characters, it was for him, not me, to interfere in behalf of this lady; yet he dared not act without secret direction from me. But I forgot our pretence and hastened forward, my hand on my sword-hilt. "I fear monsieur is annoying mademoiselle," I said, gently, assuming that De Berquin had been correct in addressing her as mademoiselle.