The rose garden seemed to be as quiet as a church-yard. No sound was heard save the faint soughing of the evening wind among the rose bushes, no sight resembling humanity visible save the face of Pan looking down mockingly upon the crimson blossoms that girdled him. Yet in a few seconds it became plain that the god Pan was not the only occupant of the garden. Through quiet alleyways, cloaked and cowled figures came stealing, six in number--men with pilgrims' cloaks about their shoulders, and pilgrims' hoods upon their heads--men who carried cockleshells upon the sleeves of their gabardines--all converging through the dark walks of the garden to a common centre, and that centre the grassy space before the king's watch tower. The six figures huddled together at the base of the image of Pan. One of them who seemed to be their leader, a man of giant form, spoke, and the voice was the voice of Thibaut d'Aussigny. "Are we all here?" he asked. The nearest pilgrim to him answered with the voice of René de Montigny. "Aye, and ready to gather the royal rose of this garden." As he spoke there came a faint click at the latch of the tower door. Thibaut waved his companions apart. "Keep close," he said, and four of the pilgrim forms disappeared swiftly into the spaces of shadow. Only Thibaut and René remained, standing masked and attentive, their eyes fixed upon the tower door. It opened and Noel le Jolys emerged, followed by, the slight, hunched figure in faded black velvet for whom the eyes of the conspirators were so eager. Noel advanced questioning: "Is the star-gazer here?" René de Montigny answered him glibly as a showman patters the praise of his wares. "Aye. He is the wonder of the world. He can read the stars more easily than a tapster the score on his shutter. He can spell you the high luck and the low. Bohemian, Egyptian, Arabian wisdom have no mysteries for him." As René ceased, the royal figure with a sweeping gesture of his hand made a sign of dismissal to Noel, who bowed respectfully and withdrew into the tower. The king then beckoned to the mighty figure in the palmer's weed, and Thibaut advanced slowly until he was within touch of his prey, when he suddenly flung out his great hand and caught his enemy by the throat, gripping him into silence while his right hand bared and brandished a dagger. The figure in black dropped under his grasp, trembled and gasped, but the hand of Thibaut was too strong upon him and he could not speak or cry out. Thibaut hissed at him: "Sire, I can decipher your destiny. Do not speak or I will kill you!" He pressed the point of the dagger close to the captive's neck and smiled to see him shudder. "I am Thibaut d'Aussigny, sire, whom you thought to be dead, but who lives to prison you." As he spoke his companions emerged from the gloom and gathered around Thibaut and the king, a little menacing circle of determined men.