Roquefort’s eyes blazed up with joy; then he lay back wearily upon his pillow. I felt a sudden fear spring to life in my heart. What could he want of Claire? I looked up to find M. le Comte’s eyes upon me. “M. de Marsan,” he said, “are you too weary to perform this journey?” Weary? No! Not when the journey led to Claire! When I should be alone with her, as I had dreamed, with only the stars for company and none to interfere! “I shall be glad to go, M. le Comte,” I said, and took the ring. “There is need of haste,” he added, glancing at the figure on the bed. “Do you wish a companion?” “A companion? No, Monsieur. They might fire if they saw two men approaching. One they will not fear.” “True,” he assented. “Hasten, then; we will await you here.” I hurried out into the night, across the camp, and around the cliff to the road that mounted to the castle gate. The moon was higher now, and I could see the road stretching, a white ribbon, ahead of me. I knew that others, looking down, could see me mounting, and as I went I held my hands high above my head to prove my peaceful errand. So I was permitted to pass without challenge until I stood before the great gate. “A message from M. le Duc de Roquefort!” I cried. There was a moment’s pause, then I heard the rattle of bolts and a little postern opened. “Enter!” said a gruff voice. I stooped and stepped through. The gate was clanged shut behind me in an instant. A mob of men-at-arms crowded threateningly about me. “M. le Duc is now in the camp of M. le Comte de Cadillac,” I began. “He sent this ring by me to prove that I am his messenger. He desires me to bring back to him the person of Mademoiselle Claire de Brissac.” There was a little stir in their ranks. “What doth it mean?” asked one at last. “What wants he of the girl?” “I do not know,” I answered, and I could not wholly keep the bitterness from my voice. “He sent this ring that you might do his bidding without question.” They nodded one to another, each placing his construction on the order. Doubtless they were all familiar with their master’s passion for her, and so could fashion their own conclusion. Some half dozen of them drew to a corner and talked together a moment in low tones. At last they came back to me. “You shall have the girl, Monsieur,” said one, “but you must leave us the ring for warrant.” I handed it over readily enough, and watched him as he hastened across the court and plunged into the dark doorway of the building beyond. The minutes dragged like hours. Would she come? What would she think? A touch on the arm brought me out of my thoughts. I turned to find myself looking into the face of Roquefort’s surgeon--the one who had gazed down upon me on the rack. Again some fancied familiarity in his features struck me, and his voice, when he spoke, made me fairly start, so certain was I that I had heard it somewhere far from Marleon.