It wanted full ten minutes to the hour when I rode through the gates of the Hotel de Belin, and a moment or so after was with my friend. He was standing in the great hall as I entered, in the midst of a small but brilliantly dressed group of cavaliers. On my being announced, however, he came forward to meet me with outstretched arms. '_Pardieu!_' he exclaimed, stepping back a half-pace after our greeting, 'so you have dropped the Huguenot? We poor devils will have but a bad time of it if you turn courtier.' 'Is that likely?' I asked, a little bitterly, and then, in a low tone, 'have you made Ravaillac safe?' 'He has made himself safe,' he whispered, 'he is gone.' 'Gone?' 'Yes--vanished. It is, perhaps, best so. We will discuss him later,' and, raising his voice, 'come, let me present you to my friends,' and he led me up to his companions, who, gathered in a little knot near the huge fireplace, stood surveying us with a well-bred curiosity. 'Gentlemen, permit me to introduce my old comrade, the Chevalier d'Auriac--the Duc de Bellegarde, whom we all call M. le Grand, the Vicompte de Vitry, the Seigneur de Valryn, and the Chevalier d'Aubusson, who, like you, d'Auriac, is new to the court.' 'And who is delighted to meet with an old acquaintance, and trusts that M. de Preaulx is in as good a way.' 'As the company from Paradise--eh, chevalier?' I put in. 'Fairly hit,' exclaimed the lieutenant, and then he must needs tell the story of our little adventure, at which there was much laughter, and it was easy to see that the Marshal and Zamet had no friends in the Rue de Bourdonnais. 'Come, gentlemen,' said de Belin, 'if we delay longer we shall miss the cinque-pace--one health round, and let us start.' As he spoke, a number of long-necked glasses filled with the wine of Champagne were brought to us. Holding his glass high above his head, de Belin called out: 'Gentlemen--the King.' The toast was drunk with a cheer in which my voice alone was still; but I joined with the others in shivering my glass to fragments on the white marble of the floor, and then, a gay, laughing crowd, we took horse for the Louvre. As we trotted along, I could not help wondering to myself at my own outward gaiety, and whether the same bright mask covered thoughts as dark as mine in my companions' hearts. Who, on looking at de Belin and hearing the frivol of his talk, or on casting a glance at the red and honest face of de Vitry, would imagine that these men were hilt-deep in the intrigues of the court? Perhaps the stately Bellegarde, the cynical lord of Valryn, the Thersites of his day, whose ribald tongue had silenced even de Sancy, and that devil-may-care d'Aubusson, were up to the elbows in the same pie! Absorbed for a moment or so in these reflections I became silent, and was only aroused by Bellegarde riding up alongside of me and calling out-- 'A tester for your thoughts, chevalier, and three hundred pistoles for your nag.'