“Why, ye have but to poke a nose an inch beyond the door to be carted to the Tower. How will ye see Captain Ferrers, then? ’Tis the height of absurdity. Take my advice and keep close till ye find a ship. Then set your course for the Plantations till yer matter is cooled. I’ve a debt or two myself, and I’m inclined to accompany ye.” Mornay looked at him in surprise. “Why, Cornbury, you have but a faint heart!” “It is this news from France--ye have no backing--” “Come! have done!” cried Mornay. “You sap my will. If you cannot look the situation gallantly in the face, why, then--” He stopped and lowered his voice, casting a glance at the Irishman. “_Mon ami_, I expect too much. More than I can claim.” Mornay walked towards the door and took Cornbury’s cloak and hat. “_Allons!_ You shall leave me at once. Your only danger is in my society. Go at once upon the street, and they can prove nothing; stay with me, and you harbor an enemy of the state and a fugitive from justice.” Cornbury threw a look at him and rose to his feet with an oath. “D--n ye, man, d’ye think I’d quit ye now? Ye give me credit for a smallish sense of dacency.” He walked to the window and looked down upon the street. Mornay followed him at once and took him by the hand. “I have offended you? Forgive me. This matter is the turning of gall to honey for me, Cornbury. I cannot leave it without a struggle. I pray you, bear with me.” Cornbury was smiling in a moment. “What do ye plan?” he said. “Listen. Vigot is clever. He shall discover for me when Captain Ferrers will wait upon madame, _ma cousine_. I, too, will call upon her.” “And ye’ve just killed her guardian!” said Cornbury, dryly. “She’ll not receive ye with kisses.” Mornay smiled and slowly answered: “You will think it strange that a gentleman should intrude upon a woman. But to-morrow, perhaps to-day, I may go from this city and country forever. Before that I shall make one effort to establish my good name. I shall not succeed; but I shall have done my duty to myself and the mother who bore me. As for the Capitaine Ferraire--” Mornay’s eyes flashed ominously. “If I knew where he had put the papers--if I could but get him to fight--” “Fight! Ye couldn’t coax a fight from Ferrers with the flat of yer hand. He’d rather see ye in the Bastile or the Tower. He’s too sure to take any risks. Besides, if ye’d kill him the papers would be lost forever. No, he’ll not fight. He owes ye money, and while the constables can cancel the debt ye may be sure that _he_ will _not_.” Mornay passed his hand over his brow. “’Tis true. But I must see them together. That is the only chance. I will go to-day.” “But how, Mornay?” asked Cornbury, dryly. “In a coach and four?” Mornay sprang to his feet in delight. “_C’est ça!_” he cried, joyfully. “Oh, monsieur, but you have the Irish wit. Vigot shall bring me a coach. I shall ride in state.” Cornbury rose to his feet angrily.