All of these things passed again somewhat heavily through his mind. The air of unconcern and assurance which he met in the faces of both Mornay and the Irishman disarmed him. He thought how easy it had been to gain his ends, and comfortably fingered the whistle in his pocket with which he should presently call in his hounds upon his enemy. Nor would his pistols be required. If he had wished he could have sent his constables up from below to take these men in the trap they had made for themselves. But he enjoyed the situation. It was as easy as a game of quinze with the mirror behind your opponent’s back. “Monsieur Ferraire,” began Mornay, pleasantly, “I am meeting you to-night at great risk of my life. I thank you that you have kept my plans and this rendezvous a secret.” Ferrers’s small eyes blinked as though they had been liberally peppered, but the smile did not disappear. “What I have to say is to your great advantage. If after I am through you still wish to meet me, I shall be at your service below in the garden, or elsewhere. Will you sit down?” The Captain’s lip twitched a little and his fingers left the whistle and moved to a chair-back. It was apparent that Mornay’s mind was a thousand miles from all thought of distrust or suspicion. He was as guileless as a child. Cornbury had filled another pipe and crossed his legs. “It will be useless to sit or talk, monsieur,” said Ferrers, coldly. “I have brought Mr. Wynne with an object which cannot be mistaken. If you are agreeable, Mr. Wynne will talk with Captain Cornbury as to the arrangements.” He folded his arms and walked to the window with an air of rounding off a conversation. Mornay arose from his seat and walked around the table to the side nearest the door. “You must hear me, monsieur,” he said, calmly. “I offer you friendship and a proposition which cannot but be to your advantage.” Ferrers had turned, but his head shook in refusal. “There can be but one proposition between us, Mornay.” Mornay shrugged his shoulders. “Captain Cornbury,” he said, “will you have the kindness to arrange with Monsieur de Wynne?” He stopped, bit his lip a moment, then turned to Ferrers once more. “I entreat you to listen to me. I have told you that I was the Vicomte de Bresac. No, it is no jest. I am René d’Añasco. _Eh bien._ One day I shall prove it. What I ask is only to save a little time.” He moved nearer to the Englishman, until he could have touched him with his outstretched arm. “Listen, monsieur. If you will but give me the papers--”