“I’m glad he’s gone,” I said. My brother and the old Count exchanged glances. “There’s something back of that fellow,” said André. “We must be on our guard for I think we shall hear from him again.” We sat for almost an hour. None of us stirred except André who busied himself in making a fire. When the blaze had spread warmth about the room he came and sat down with us again. A tiny spot of blood was oozing through the bandages. “It’s from the exertion,” he explained with a smile. “I wonder if the fellow who attacked us on the road was a hireling of De Marsac?” At that the dogs began barking and yelping as they did before. The old Count of Gramont started to the door, but before he reached it, it flew wide open. It was De Marsac who burst into the room. He must have fallen into the mud for his velvet breeches were splattered with clay. A wild look shone from his eyes and he was of the color of death. “An attack has been made upon my life!” he cried. We rose from our seats. “I was making down the road towards the armorer’s where I left my horse. I was set upon by a band of men. Look here!” he exclaimed and drew an arrow from under his cloak. “But for the coat of mail I was wearing this would have gone through my heart!” “Have you enemies in the neighborhood?” demanded the old Count. “There are enemies following me,” declared De Marsac. “There is one who would snap out my life as you would snap a piece of straw. But this is not his work. This is the work of another.” Terrified, he looked around the room. “Have you ever heard of the ‘Will-o’-the-Wisp’?” he asked. “No. Who is he?” we cried together. “A highwayman,” he answered. “—a bold desperate highwayman. For a month at a time he terrifies the countryside. Then he disappears. Miles and miles away he is heard from again. He is seldom seen. He works alone. It is his disguises that trick people. He can masquerade as a nobleman, a beggar, a soldier—anything.” He flung himself into a chair but was up in a flash again. “Gentlemen, we have had our little dispute,” he said hurriedly. “It is all over now and done with. You see I cannot venture out into the night without fear for my life. In the name of your hospitality I am going to ask you to let me rest here until the morning.” The old Count looked warningly at my brother and silently shook his head ‘no.’ But André, who was easily touched on the softer side, arose and bowed. “I offer you every courtesy,” he said quietly. “It is past midnight and no doubt you are weary from your ride. I shall light you to your room.” He took the candle and went before. In a few minutes he was down again. “I could not do otherwise,” he explained. “He is not to be trusted, André,” I said. “The man’s a rogue,” added the Count of Gramont. “If I were you, André, I would put a guard about the house. There’s something brewing that we have no knowledge of.”