Down the stair we went to a great room piled with arms, where a mob of crazy men were already choosing what they needed. With great joy I found my own sword among a pile of others,--its leathern scabbard did not proclaim the Toledo within, thank Heaven!--and in five minutes was armed with pistolets and poniard, clothed in a very handsome suit of black, with great boots, whose spurs clanked most merrily as I rattled down the stair behind my friend--for such, even in the few minutes I had known him, I was determined he should be. “Now for food,” he said, and I was not sorry to follow him to a room on the lower floor where there was a long table piled with meat and drink. “In faith, I have need of it myself,” he added, as he dropped into the seat at my right, but his appetite was far from keeping pace with mine. As I ate I looked at him, and my heart warmed to his frank face and honest eyes. Young he still was,--not more than a year or two my senior,--but there was that in his air which proclaimed the soldier and man of affairs, accustomed to the smiles of fortune and quite ready to coerce her should she attempt to turn her face away. I had already realized my helplessness without a friend in this great house, and I blessed the chance that had thrown me into this man’s keeping. “Do you know, M. de Marsan,” he said suddenly, “I was quite moved by that little tale of yours. I was certain that M. le Comte could not doubt it.” “Thank you, Monsieur,” I answered. “I mean to prove that it is true.” “And I am sure you will succeed,” he said heartily. “But, my faith, how unfortunate it was that you should happen along the Rue Gogard just when you did! A moment earlier or later, and M. le Comte would perhaps be in position to bring the Duc de Roquefort to his knees. Small wonder he was vexed with you--more especially since he received that hideous scar across the face, which will stay with him always.” “I regret that I was such a marplot,” I said, “but I could not well do other than I did. When a woman asks for aid----” “And a young and pretty woman, was she not, Marsan?” queried my companion, smiling at me broadly. “Yes,” I admitted, “young and pretty. Do you know her, Monsieur?” He smiled more broadly still. “I think I can guess. Did you not hear her name?” “The man who was with her called her Claire.” He nodded. “That is she. Small wonder you leaped to follow her! Claire de Brissac, but six months out of the good sisters’ keeping, yet already the toast of the whole valley of the Garonne. It has never been my good fortune to meet her, but such tales as we have heard! ’Tis said Roquefort himself is mad about her, and a month since Rumor had them wedded, but at the last the affair hung fire--through some caprice on her part, ’tis said. She would do well to wed him while she can,” he added. “He may not choose to call a priest the second time.” “But her father,” I said, “her uncle--will not they protect her?” Fronsac laughed.