"How came you here? What are you about?" "No harm, messieurs," I made haste to protest, ruing my stupidity with that dagger. "I climbed in at a window for sport. I thought the house was deserted." He clutched my shoulder till I could have screamed for pain. "The truth, now. If you value your life you will tell the truth." "Monsieur, it is the truth. I came in idle mischief; that was the whole of it. I had no notion of breaking in upon you or any one. They said the house was haunted." "Who said that?" "Maître Jacques, at the Amour de Dieu." He stared at me in surprise. "What had you been asking about this house?" Yeux-gris, lounging against the table, struck in: "I can tell you that myself. He told Jacques he saw us in the window last night. Did you not?" "Aye, monsieur. The thunder woke me, and when I looked out I saw you plain as day. But Maître Jacques said it was a vision." "I flattered myself I saw you first and got that shutter closed very neatly," said Yeux-gris. "Dame! I am not so clever as I thought. So old Jacques called us ghosts, did he?" "Yes, monsieur. He told me this house belonged to M. de Béthune, who was a Huguenot and killed in the massacre." Yeux-gris burst into joyous laughter. "He said my house belonged to the Béthunes! Well played, Jacques! You owe that gallant lie to me, Gervais, and the pains I took to make him think us Navarre's men. He is heart and soul for Henri Quatre. Did he say, perchance, that in this very courtyard Coligny fell?" "No," said I, seeing that I had been fooled and had had all my terrors for naught, and feeling much chagrined thereat. "How was I to know it was a lie? I know naught about Paris. I came up but yesterday from St. Quentin." "St. Quentin!" came a cry from the henchman. With a fierce "Be quiet, fool!" Gervais turned to me and demanded my name. "Félix Broux." "Who sent you here?" "Monsieur, no one." "You lie." Again he gripped me by the shoulder, gripped till the tears stood in my eyes. "No one, monsieur; I swear it." "You will not speak! I'll make you, by Heaven." He seized my thumb and wrist to bend one back on the other, torture with strength such as his. Yeux-gris sprang off the table. "Let alone, Gervais! The boy's honest." "He is a spy." "He is a fool of a country boy. A spy in hobnailed shoes, forsooth! No spy ever behaved as he has. I said when you first seized him he was no spy. I say it again, now I have heard his story. He saw us by chance, and Maître Jacques's bogy story spurred him on instead of keeping him off. You are a fool, my cousin." "Pardieu! it is you who are the fool," growled Gervais. "You will bring us to the rope with your cursed easy ways. If he is a spy it means the whole crew are down upon us." "What of that?" "Pardieu! is it nothing?" Yeux-gris returned with a touch of haughtiness: "It is nothing. A gentleman may live in his own house." Gervais looked as if he remembered something. He said much less boisterously: