“I shall have one of the servants watch in the hall upstairs,” my brother said. “Another will stay here during the night. We must learn what his purpose is so that we can meet the situation. In the morning if he smiles again, I shall be like honey to him. I think that is the better way.” The old Count laughed in his throat and grunted. “If this were my house,” he said, “I would make short work of him.” And he made a sign that meant that he would string him to a tree. We were all tired. One by one we bade each other goodnight and went to bed. CHAPTER V WHAT I LEARNED IN THE WOODS The next morning when I awoke the sun was shining big and fairly warm. The chill of the night before had yielded to a gentle breeze that blew now steadily from the south. I heard the clatter of pots and pans in the pantry below. The fresh odor of small bacon was wafted to my nostrils. In fits and starts the low rumble of men’s voices arose like the heaviness of distant thunder here and there between a loud laugh that echoed high against the rafters. By this I knew it was time that I was stirring. As fast as I could I washed and dressed myself and hurried down the stairs. I laid my hand on the latch to enter when another burst of laughter louder than the others smote upon my ears. I thought that some travelers or friends from the neighborhood were making a morning call, so I jerked open the door and with a smile of greeting entered the room. In the next breath I stood stock still. There were but three men at the table—the old Count of Gramont, my brother André and the intruder of the night before. But what struck me first was that they were in the merriest of moods. The old Count was grinning and staring hard before him. André with his face in his palms was smiling like a pleased child. And De Marsac, as vivacious as a young colt, was babbling and talking like a running brook. His face was flushed. He was waving his hands as wildly as a windmill. I never saw men so completely changed. It was all sham I knew—a kind of play in which the one was trying to beguile the other. There was no sincerity in their actions or their words. For a second I was amazed. De Marsac must have seen the puzzled expression on my face. He leaped from his seat and hastened towards me. With the same show of outward delight with which you would greet an old acquaintance, he clapped my hand in his and tucked it under his arm. “A sound sleeper,” he cried. “An easy mind.” And then, as though it were an amusing thing for a lad of my age to have a mind at all, he turned with a knowing gesture and broke into a laugh.