We were standing, facing one another. I answered him slowly, trying to catch his purpose. "Why are you willing to pay me a price?" said I. "For it's you who pays?" "Yes, I pay. Come, man, you know why you go and who goes with you?" "M. de Perrencourt and M. Colbert go," said I. "Why I go, I don't know." "Nor who else goes?" he asked, looking in my eyes. I paused for a moment and then answered, "Yes, she goes." "And you know for what purpose?" "I can guess the purpose." "Well, I want to go in your place. I have done with that fool Monmouth, and the French King would suit me well for a master." "Then ask him to take you also." "He will not; he'll rather take you." "Then I'll go," said I. He drew a step nearer to me. I watched him closely, for, on my life, I did not know in what mood he was, and his honour was ill to lean on as a waving reed. "What will you gain by going?" he asked. "And if you fly he will take me. Somebody he must take." "Is not M. Colbert enough?" He looked at me suspiciously, as though he thought that I assumed ignorance. "You know very well that Colbert wouldn't serve his purpose." "By my faith," I cried, "I don't know what his purpose is." "You swear it?" he asked in distrust and amazement. "Most willingly," I answered. "It is simple truth." He gazed at me still as though but half-convinced. "Then what's your purpose in going?" he asked. "I obey my orders. Yet I have a purpose, and one I had rather trust with myself than with you, my lord." "Pray, sir, what is it?" "To serve and guard the lady who goes also." After a moment of seeming surprise, he broke into a sneering laugh. "You go to guard her?" he said. "Her and her honour," I answered steadily. "And I do not desire to resign that task into your hands, my lord." "What will you do? How will you serve her?" he asked. A sudden suspicion of him seized me. His manner had changed to a forced urbanity; when he was civil he was treacherous. "That's my secret, my lord," I answered. "I have preparations to make. I pray you, give me leave." I opened the door and held it for him. His rage mastered him; he grew red and the veins swelled on his forehead. "By heaven, you shan't go," he cried, and clapped his hand to his sword. "Who says that Mr Dale shall not go?" A man stood in the doorway, plainly attired, wearing boots, and a cloak that half-hid his face. Yet I knew him, and Carford knew him. Carford shrank back, I bowed, and we both bared our heads. M. de Perrencourt advanced into the room, fixing his eyes on Carford. "My lord," he said, "when I decline a gentleman's services I am not to be forced into accepting them, and when I say a gentleman shall go with me he goes. Have you a quarrel with me on that account?"