At her entrance he had risen, bowing with the careless courtesy of a stranger and receiving in return as negligent an acknowledgment; but though my curiosity had been stirred like that of the landlord, it was her first word that fairly aroused it. "Narbonne," said he. "Argenton," was the answer. CHAPTER VI THE MUSE IN DRAGGLED SKIRTS Argenton! That was strange, so strange that I started on my stool at the end of the table, and half rose. Of course they were passwords, but why Argenton? Argenton was the lordship of Monsieur de Commines, to whom I looked for protection; why Argenton? Bowing again, but with a warmer courtesy, he motioned her to take his place at the inner side of the table while he, drawing the end of stool a foot or two back towards the corner, sat, half-concealed by her shrouded bulk. "Mademoiselle will excuse me uncovering?" he said, touching his slouched hat, "and will also remember we are not alone." Turning, she glanced down at us as we sat in the light of our one guttering candle. It was my first glimpse of her face, but so deep was her hood I saw no more than an oval of pallor in the darkness of its cavity. "I think," said she contemptuously, with a glance at the scattered group in the alcove, "we could soon be alone if Monseigneur thought it desirable." Of the hint and the contempt I alike took no notice, of the latter because of the former; the threat that underlay it fixed me to my seat. To have moved then, was to move upon compulsion. But as we continued our play with the dice as if the words had never been said, her companion interposed hastily. "No, no. I confess I thought of that before you came. But brawling would serve neither you nor me, no, nor those who--who--trust us." "That there is trust between us, Monseigneur, I am glad to know," she answered, "for as yet, I have not seen much of it--on one side." So far they had spoken with no pretence at concealment, their object, I surmised, being to disabuse us of all suspicion of deep matters. But now their voices fell to a murmur, over which the click of the dice on the wood of the table sounded to my tense nerves like a clash of swords. Let it be remembered that I was but a country lad. All this was new to me, and the pricking threat of danger, the secrecy, the very air of Paris itself, fired my blood. And so the minutes passed; the girl--I was sure she was a girl, so sweet was her voice, so gentle, and with a stirring music in it that was strange to me in women's voices. Since then I have heard a like music throbbing from a bird's song in the pure blue of a summer's noon, and been thrilled by it as I was then; yes, I was sure it was a girl.