“The castle of M. de Roquefort stands on a height above the town, and is approached only by a steep and narrow road, where two men can scarcely walk abreast. The Duc du Poitiers, with an army of three thousand men, once assaulted it in vain. It will not soon yield to force.” “If not to force, then to stratagem!” I cried. “Quite right,” chuckled a low voice behind us. “If not to force, then to stratagem! Well said!” I turned with a start to see that it was the Sieur Letourge, who had ridden close to us without our perceiving it, and who had overheard my last words. “M. de Fronsac,” he continued, bowing, and urging his horse nose to nose with mine, “M. le Comte wishes to speak with you. Do you fall back and join him. I will endeavor to entertain our friend here,” and he nodded to me. Fronsac obeyed without a word, and for some moments my new companion and I rode side by side in silence. I glanced at him narrowly from time to time, for this was the first that I had seen him in the light of day and close at hand. A tall, raw-boned man, whose hair was turning gray, and whose stern face, with its arched nose, deep-set eyes, firm mouth, and aggressive chin, told of the will which would never accept defeat. Not a pleasant face, perhaps, yet a strong one, an honest one, and one which drew my eyes to it by a kind of fascination. This was the man, as I well knew, who for some score of years had been the right hand of M. le Comte and who had done more than any other to confirm his rule over his great estates, to win for him friends and allies the length and breadth of the Midi, and to impress his enemies, the Duc de Roquefort among the number, with a hearty respect for his heavy fist--his heavy fist, that is, the two or three hundred reckless rogues whom he held in leash and let loose from time to time to punish some contumacious lordling or frighten into subjection a rebellious peasantry. Ah, how the peasants hated him,--this man, Letourge, who had pulled himself up from among them by sheer strength of will and straightway forgot his kinship with them! He could not serve two masters, so he served M. le Comte, and served him well. He caught my glance, and smiled grimly as he looked into my eyes. “You were talking of storming Roquefort’s castle at Marleon?” he asked. “Yes, Monsieur.” “’Twill be no easy task.” “But it may not be needful. We may reach the château in time.” He shook his head, as Fronsac had done. “Had we set out last night,” he said. “Had we permitted you to deliver your message straightway! I can see now that I played the fool. Yet the sight of you there in M. le Comte’s ante-chamber took my wits away. You spoke a true word, M. de Marsan, when you told me I should regret my wrath.” I looked at him eagerly. “Then you too believe my story, M. Letourge?” I asked quickly. He gave me one look from under his eyebrows.