“Nothing would please me more, Monsieur,” I said with a great lightening of the heart. “I covet you for a friend.” “And I you.” I looked into his eyes and read truth and manhood there. So it was settled. I could see that he was in a fever of impatience to be off, and just as I pushed my platter from me, the call to horse sounded from without. When M. le Comte said twenty minutes, he meant twenty minutes and not an instant more. And woe to all laggards! So we hurried down into the court, where there was a great tangle of men and beasts. Through this we pushed, my companion leading the way, to the place where our horses, which he had ordered from the stables, awaited us. My mount was a great, mettlesome sorrel, and I looked him over with exultation, for we had none such in our stable at Marsan. A moment later M. le Comte himself strode down the steps into the court, his face still bandaged, and gave the signal to mount. We sprang to saddle on the instant, and it was wonderful to see how that mob resolved itself into a little army. Out through the gate we swung, three hundred strong, the standards--azure; on a bend or a laurel-tree sinople--floating gayly in front. The great gate clanged shut behind us, and I saw that even a small garrison could hold the place, so admirably was it fitted for defence. The sun was shining from a sky unclouded, and we made a brave show as we clattered through the narrow streets of the town, the crowd looking on from either side. Some of them cheered, but the most were silent and gazed at us with no friendly eyes, and I saw that, even in Montauban, M. le Comte’s couch was not an easy one. At last we were out in the open country and struck into a gait which soon left the walls far behind. I glanced back for a last look at the town, and saw M. le Comte riding moodily along near the rear of the column. To his left rode Sieur Letourge, to his right d’Aurilly. CHAPTER V THE RIDE TO CADILLAC M. LE COMTE’S château of Cadillac stood upon the east bank of the Garonne, some ten leagues to the south of Montauban. My father had taken me thither once, when I was a mere boy,--what business called him there I do not know,--and I remember quite clearly the great house, with its high, graceful central tower, its broad wings, and the pretty park in front, sloping sweetly down to the river’s edge. It beseemed me at the time that the palace of the King of France must be less beautiful; but, alas, one’s eyes grow more critical with age!