I breathed a great sigh of relief when I tramped up the gravel walk that led to the house. With no ado I pushed open the front door and entered. In the great hall there were two men, the one my brother André and the old Count of Gramont who lived in the castle on the hill. They had just finished lighting the candles. There was no fire in the open hearth and the room was cold and chilled with the damp. The old Count was pacing nervously up and down the floor muttering to himself in his deep rolling tones. My brother’s face was as white as chalk and lines of worry lay across his forehead. He was standing at the long oaken table that stood in the centre of the room winding a piece of linen about his lower arm. I did not speak for at the first glance I noticed that, as he wound, the blood kept oozing through the bandages from the place where he had been wounded. CHAPTER III A VISITOR IN THE NIGHT I stood stock still in the middle of the floor. My brother looked at me from head to foot. “Le Brun has been here, Henri,” he said calmly. And then in a low voice, “I was afraid that something had happened to you, you return so late.” “Something has happened,” I burst forth and in shaking tones told him of my adventures in the woods. “They are agents of the King,” cried the old Count. “They are everywhere about us. They are not satisfied that they have taken my son. They will——” My mouth fell open in amazement. “They have taken Charles?” I asked. “Is it true then that he was at the meeting at Rouen? You can——” “It was a meeting of the nobles of Normandy,” he interrupted. “I thought I was too old to go myself so I sent my only son. They were to make plans to protect us against the aggressions of the King. But the secret leaked out. Some traitor in our ranks betrayed us. Every man in the gathering was taken. A full dozen were beheaded behind the walls of the town. A few were sent off as prisoners, to be scattered among the castles of the King.” “—and Charles?” I cried. The old man sighed and ground his teeth. “He is on his way down the valley of the Loire,” he rumbled deep in his throat, “to be mewed up till the crack of doom.” The blood left my face. A chill of horror ran through every limb. “We shall bring him back, Henri,” said André with a ring in his voice. “If it takes the last drop of blood of the last Norman, we shall bring him back. But we shall have to wait.” The old Count flung his hand in the air. The fire flashed from his eyes and he began to stride again across the floor.