At the hour appointed that night, for the contest between the chess players, Marchand, accompanied by Le Moyne and Challus, made his appearance in the apartments of René Laudonniere. Those of Alphonse D'Erlach were already occupied by four or five trusty fellows; and the arms which filled the apartment were ample for the defence of the party, while in the building, against any number assailing from without. The foresight of Alphonse had made all the necessary preparations, to encounter any foe, who might, after the explosion, attempt to carry their object in a bold way. He had no fear of this, but his habitual forethought led to the precautions. Meanwhile, of the designs against him and of the means taken for his safety, Laudonniere had not the slightest suspicion. His thoughts were occupied with one danger only--that of being beaten by Marchand. He valued himself upon his play--was one of those persons who never suffer themselves to be beaten when they can possibly help it--even by a lady. If our captain made any preparations, that day, it was for the supper that night, and the contest which was to follow it. His instruction, on the first matter, given to his cook, he retired to his chamber and exercised himself throughout the day in a series of studies in the game--planning new combinations to be brought into play, if possible, in the contest which was to follow. His welcome to Marchand declared the opinion which he himself entertained of his studies. "I shall beat you, Marchand." "You can't--you shan't," was the ready answer; "you're not my match, captain." This answer piqued Laudonniere. "We shall see--we shall see; not your match! Well! we shall see."