In addition to the profits of his wine and beer house, and the little pickings which his secret relations with Count Ludwig enabled him to have, our worthy Carl Langfanger, was ostensibly a farrier and horse doctor, who, by painting and patching up old nags, made them--though the veriest Rosinantes--pass for chargers of spirit and mettle; thus he was so well known at all the hostelries in Bommel, that a short time enabled him to discover the temporary residence of Sir Patrick Gray. This cunning boor had attired himself in a dark suit of respectable broad-cloth, with a clean white ruff round his neck, and a wooden rosary of portentous size at his right wrist; thus he had all the air of a worthy citizen, though his scrubby black hair was brushed straight down to his small stealthy eyes, and cut off squarely above his long and pendant ears. "You wish to speak with me?" said Gray, in French. Langfanger, who had served in several countries, replied readily in the same language: "I have a message to monsieur!" "From whom?" "A fair demoiselle," replied Carl, in his most insinuating voice, and a glitter in his cunning eyes. "Indeed--then carry your message elsewhere--you have come to the wrong quarter, my friend," replied Gray, curtly, as he detected something of the bravo in the air of his visitor. "But the demoiselle is in distress," urged Carl, with some alarm lest his errand might fail. "I am not the burgomaster, and knights errant are out of fashion, my friend; but _who_ is she?" "I know not her name, messire," stammered Carl, who had omitted to inform himself of this rather important particular. "By whom--and in what manner is she wronged?" "Mademoiselle said that this ring, which I have the honour to present, would inform monsieur of everything," said Carl, stepping forward. "This ring," reiterated Gray, becoming suddenly interested and perplexed, on recognizing the trinket he had given to Murielle in other days, at the Three Thorns of the Carlinwark, near Thrave; and he kissed and placed it on his finger, for it was a signal with which he could neither delay nor trifle. What might this summons portend? Carl Langfanger, who was smoothing down his obstinate forelock, while estimating the value of the victim's habiliments, replied, that by the safety of his sinful soul, he knew not. Was she in immediate danger? He did not know that either; but she seemed in great tribulation. "You have seen her, then?" "Within an hour, messire." "Where--and where does she now await me?" "Near an auberge--_The Forester of Flanders_--three miles from Bommel; an auberge of the best character, messire." "In what direction, my good friend?" "Ah--I am messire's good friend now!--the way to Ameldroyen." "Among the forests?" said Gray, with increasing alarm. "Exactly, messire."