"It matters little, dear friend, but at present there is no need for alarm. Do you know what was in that packet from the Cardinal? Conde has won over the Duke of Lorraine, who is marching on Paris with a large army. Turenne intends to break up his camp and attack the Duke." "That will be awkward; we shall be placed between two fires." "Trust to Turenne; he understands his business. A few troops will stay here for a day or two. Meanwhile, we march light; we shall strike our blow at Lorraine, and then the rest of our army will rejoin us." "Leaving Conde's troops to slip out of Etampes!" "So much the better; they will be compelled to fight in the open." "Are you riding with the Marshal?" "In front of him. He has selected my squadron to scour the country in advance. It will be a change from camp life. Now, I must go; we shall meet again soon." "I hope so!" "It is certain," he answered calmly, "the stars have foretold it." I looked at him in surprise, and said, "You were not used to put your faith in the stars, Raoul!" "No," he answered, dreamily, "but I have learned much of late. Do you remember the open space before the Porte St. Antoine? It is there we shall meet. I hear the roar of cannon, the rattle of muskets, the hoof-beats of horses, the fierce shouts of struggling men. I see---- Ah well, dear friend, it is not long to wait!" I tried to detain him, to make him speak more plainly, but he would say nothing further, and, leaving the tent, we walked in silence to the lines farthest from Etampes. Raoul's horsemen were already there, and presently Turenne himself, attended by two officers, rode up. In a few stirring words he addressed the troopers, bidding them justify his choice, and speaking in high terms of their young leader. Then he gave Raoul his final instructions, and my friend pressed my hand in a last grasp. "_Au revoir!_" said he quietly. "Remember the Porte St. Antoine!" I stood for a while watching the weird scene as the troopers filed off silently, and in perfect order. Raoul, who had placed himself at their head, was soon out of sight, but I could not banish his strange words from my mind. "Remember the Porte St. Antoine!" What did he mean? Why had he mentioned that particular spot as the scene of our meeting? What was the strange vision at which he had hinted? Alas! I understood later, but even to this day the manner of his foreknowledge remains a mystery. "Is that M. de Lalande?" Starting from my dream, I found it was Marshal Turenne who addressed me, and saluting, I answered his question. "Come to me at daybreak," he said; "I wish to send a letter by you to Cardinal Mazarin," and he galloped off, the two officers following.