Le Gallais was aghast. He was asked to consent to a plot to kidnap the king, and convey him into the hands of those who had taken his father's anointed head from his shoulders. A plot to be carried out in Jersey, and by the aid of Jerseymen! Alain was not a blind royalist, as we have seen, but he had not learned, either from Prynne or from Lempriere, either that Jersey could exist without a King of England or that treachery was a necessary part of the work of liberty. At the same time the ruffian before him must not be prematurely alarmed. So he played his part as best he might. "I must think of it," he said, "the enterprise is bold. Tell me no more of your projects," he added, with a sudden shame, as the swashbuckler was about to enter into details. "I cannot now take part in your work, for reasons." "All the better," said the bravo, "but see that you betray me not. The fewer of us the larger the share; but you were best not betray me." "Threats are not needed, major," answered the Jerseyman, "I am no traitor." Le Gallais paid the reckoning and sauntered off, a prey to contending thoughts. That the cruel plot should come to nought, if its frustration were within his means, he unhesitatingly resolved. That Querto's confidence--unasked though it had been--should be used against himself, was equally unwelcome to Alain's sense of honour. In his perplexity, he wandered almost as by instinct to the lodgings of the Lemprieres. He had long been accustomed to regard the simple good faith and courage of Mme. de Maufant as an infallible oracle in cases of conscience. Never had so hard a need for an infallible oracle presented itself to his mind as this. He found the ladies seated in a parlour on the ground floor, engaged in their usual employment of knitting. The room was small, but warm and snug. Under a pledge of secrecy, he told them in general terms that there was a plot to seize the king, but took care not to mention the names either of Querto or Benoist. Meanwhile the council having broken up for the day, the king retired to his chamber. But instead of resting and calling for refreshment, as was his wont on such occasions, he seemed to meditate an excursion. Only that, in deference to the prudent scruples of his council, he was apparently going forth in strict disguise, for he unbuckled his jewel-hilted sword, and took off his velvet doublet. Then tucking his long hair under a fur cap, and putting on a blouse, such as was worn by the country people, he walked out of the castle in the dark of the winter evening, passing the sentries by giving the parole of the day. The tide being low he walked across the "bridge," and at the town end was accosted by a man, attired like himself, who was waiting for him there. "Owls be abroad," said the stranger. "They mouse by night," answered the king.