“I was not thrown,” replied the count, “for I also am a good rider; no, I tied him to a tree while I entered a house, and at my return he had disappeared. I thought he had been stolen, or that some passer-by had played a bad joke by carrying him away; that was why I asked how he returned to the stable.” “He returned alone, as monsieur said just now.” “It is strange. Monseigneur often rides this horse, you say?” “Nearly every day.” “His highness returned late last night?” “About an hour before you.” “And what horse did he ride? was it a bay with a white star on his forehead?” “No, monsieur, he rode Isolin, which you see here.” “And in the prince’s escort is there any one who rides such a horse as I describe?” “I know of no one.” “Well,” said Monsoreau, impatiently, “saddle me Roland.” “Roland?” “Yes, are there any orders against it?” “No; on the contrary, I was told to let you have any horse you pleased.” When Roland was saddled, Monsoreau said to the man, “What are your wages?” “Twenty crowns, monsieur.” “Will you earn ten times that sum at once?” “I ask no better. But how?” “Find out who rode yesterday the horse I described.” “Ah, monsieur, what you ask is very difficult, there are so many gentlemen come here.” “Yes, but two hundred crowns are worth some trouble.” “Certainly, M. le Comte, and I will do my best to discover.” “That is right, and here are ten crowns to encourage you.” “Thanks, M. le Comte.” “Well, tell the prince I have gone to reconnoiter the wood for the chase.” As he spoke he heard steps behind him, and turned. “Ah, M. de Bussy!” he cried. “Why, M. le Comte, who would have thought of seeing you here!” “And you, who they said was so ill.” “So I am; my doctor orders absolute rest, and for a week I have not left the city. Ah! you are going to ride Roland; I sold him to the duke, who is very fond of him.” “Yes, he is an excellent animal; I rode him yesterday.” “Which makes you wish for him again to-day?” “Yes.” “You were speaking of a chase.” “Yes, the prince wishes for one.” “Whereabouts is it to be?” “Near Méridor. Will you come with me?” “No, thank you, I do not feel well.” “Oh!” cried a voice from behind, “there is M. de Bussy out without permission.” “Ah! there is my doctor scolding. Adieu, comte.” Bussy went away, and Monsoreau jumped into the saddle. “What is the matter?” said Rémy; “you look so pale, I believe you are really ill.” “Do you know where he is going?” “No.” “To Méridor.” “Well, did you hope he would not?” “Mon Dieu! what will happen, after what he saw yesterday?” “Madame de Monsoreau will deny everything.” “But he saw her.” “She will say he did not.” “She will never have the courage.” “Oh, M. de Bussy, is it possible you do not know women better than that!” “Rémy, I feel very ill.” “So I see. Go home, and I will prescribe for you.” “What?” “A slice of fowl and ham, and some lobster.” “Oh, I am not hungry.” “The more reason I should order you to eat.”