"Wolf's head! what mystery! what ceremony!" said Bahuchet to himself, when he was alone. "If this Seigneur Léodgard were proscribed, condemned to death, if the police had orders to pounce upon him, he could not conceal himself more completely from observation!" The count's appearance put an end abruptly to the little clerk's conjectures. "What brings you here? what do you want of me?" demanded Léodgard, roughly. "I have come, monsieur le comte, because I was told to come. I have come from the marchioness." "The marchioness! have you seen her?" "No, monsieur le comte; but she sent her maid to me--a very pretty brunette, on my word!" "Well--go on!" "Who handed me a note and bade me bring it to you." "A letter from Valentine! Give it to me!" Léodgard snatched the letter from Bahuchet's hands, and eagerly ran through it. "This letter requires no reply," he said to the little man, after reading it. "You may retire." Bahuchet made a faint grimace. "Do you mean, monsieur le comte, that I am to go away like this, as I came?" Léodgard realized what he had forgotten, and hastily placed a gold piece in the messenger's hand; whereupon Bahuchet withdrew with a radiant face, making innumerable protestations of devotion. When Léodgard was alone, he again read the note, which contained these words only: "Beginning to-morrow, try to be on Place Royale between twelve and two o'clock. A girl who is wholly in my confidence will come--I cannot now say on what day--and speak to you in my behalf.--Trust to her, and do whatever she tells you." The count pressed his lips to the letter, murmuring: "Ah! you love me, Valentine! I was not in error! And the time drags with you as with me! To-morrow I will be at the place she appoints--Place Royale.--Place Royale! It is a pity that she selected that spot, so near---- But what does it matter, after all? Doubtless it is the proximity of Rue Sainte-Avoie that led her to make that selection. I will go there." At the period of our tale, the centre of Place Royale was a sort of flower garden,--green turf embellished with flowers and surrounded by trees. Everybody could walk there, and benches placed at short intervals made it possible also to rest there, and read, while breathing the fresh air. The iron fence which surrounded the square at a later period was placed there during the reign of Louis XIV, at the expense of the owners of the surrounding houses, each of whom contributed a thousand livres toward its construction. The bronze equestrian statue of Louis XIII was not erected until 1639, and the events that we are narrating, beginning in 1634, have thus far brought us only to the autumn of 1637.