But Lisois only laughed in reply, as he said: 'Add a cat falling on its feet from a church steeple to your scutcheon, d'Auriac. Shall I get Rouge Croix to prick the new coat of arms?' 'As you will; you have made my heart, which was heavy as lead, light once more--I feel now that I am not playing a hopeless game.' 'The proper feeling to have, whatever the hazard be. With all your northern blood, d'Auriac, you should not have so many nerves.' 'You forget my mother was of the south.' 'True, of the Foix Candale. You will die a Huguenot. But I must be going. Meet me at the Rue de Bourdonnais at one, exactly, and I will take you to the Louvre, and now good-bye!' He rose and gave me his hand. 'But, surely, there is no need for you to go now? Dine with me at my ordinary; I have much to tell you.' _Tap_! _tap_! _tap!_ It was dame Annette's little knock at my door, and I knew it was something of import that had brought her to my room. 'One moment, Belin!' and, opening the door, I saw Madame Pantin standing there in breathless agitation. 'What is it, madame? Come in, and speak freely; there is only my friend the Compte de Belin here.' 'It is nothing, monsieur,' she said loudly, and then, dropping her voice to a whisper, 'Ravaillac was out last night. Pantin was deceived. I have come up to tell you so at once: be rid of him. I am asked to tell you this by a friend.' 'A hundred thanks! I have parted with him, and he will not trouble us more. But who is this friend who takes so great an interest in me?' 'You have company, monsieur,' she answered, with a bobbing courtesy, 'I will not intrude longer.' And, without another word, she turned and went away. When I looked back, Belin was smoothing the plumes in his hat and laughing. 'I heard every word, d'Auriac. So Ravaillac is a mouchard, is he? And you have sent him back to me.' 'I have,' I answered, and then I told my friend what had happened. His face was grave enough when I ended. 'So that explains one thing,' he muttered to himself, tapping the point of his boot with the end of his sheathed rapier, and then, looking up, said slowly, 'You were right, and he shall sleep in Fort l'Eveque to-night. No, I cannot stay. Be punctual--and see here.' He came close up to me, and rested his hand on my shoulder. 'Though you do not know it, your game forms part of a bigger game played for higher stakes. There are those who love France, and would have no more madness such as that over poor Gabrielle--we are helping you with heart and soul. Be punctual--and adieu. No, I can go out by myself; do not trouble to come down.' He was gone, and I paced up and down for a quarter of an hour, feeling like a pawn that some unseen hand was moving hither and thither on the chessboard of intrigue. And then I went to my solitary dinner at the Two Ecus. CHAPTER XIII THE LOUVRE