"We are three travellers, one of whom is a lady. We have lost our way, and seek but a guide to the ford." As I spoke the man on the other side of the gate raised a dark lantern he had hitherto held low in his hand, and flashed it through the opening, whilst he peered at us. "Only three?" he asked. "And one a lady," I answered; whilst Pierrebon let his tongue wag: "Oh, the mole! To want a lantern in this moonlight!" And following his words came the voice from the house, asking again in Italian: "What is the matter, Piero?" To which Piero answered: "I come, signor," and with a brief "Wait!" to us, swung round on his heel and went back, Pierrebon, as he looked at the retreating figure through the grille, saying, "By St. Hugo! monsieur, we might be a party of the Guidon's Free Riders, or Captain Loup and his gang!" But, paying no heed to his words, I turned to mademoiselle. "I like not this place. We had better take our chance of finding the ford. Come!" At this Pierrebon, with the freedom of an old servant, began to protest, and mademoiselle aided him. "Oh, monsieur, could we not rest here for a little?" "We may rest here for ever if we do," I said a little sharply. "Come!" My words had, perhaps, too much of command in their tone, for she answered back coldly: "I intend to rest here, monsieur; you may go on if you like." At this I said nothing more, and let her have her way, but gave Pierrebon a warning grip of the arm to be careful. Pierrebon nodded in comprehension. He was no fool, though many thought him so, and though if his betters drew steel he as a rule let matters lie with them, yet he could be dangerous--a thing which people found out sometimes when it was a trifle late. We had to wait a space, then we heard the woman's voice laughing once more within. Something in its hard, clear tones jarred upon me, and I glanced at mademoiselle, but she kept her face aside. But now we heard returning footsteps, the grating of a bolt drawn back, the turning of a key, and then the gate opened; whilst Piero, a huge figure, stood before us, swinging his lantern, and beside him another man, armed with an arquebus, the fuse burning like a glow-worm. "Enter," said Piero; "the signor will receive you." "_Facilis est descensus Averni_," I murmured to myself, and led the way, and the gate was shut behind us. Before us lay a short drive bordered with tall poplars, and on either hand a tangle of a garden that had run to a wilderness. As we rode up a woman's figure appeared at an open window, but stepped back at once, and I asked Piero, in his own Italian: "Has Monsieur de Richelieu returned?" The giant answered gruffly: "I know not, signor. He who is within is the Captain Torquato Trotto." "Torquato Trotto! I know not the name."