De Marsac frowned. He glared at the stranger with hate and anger in his eyes. Then, hesitating with every step, he made slowly towards the trees. When he felt himself secure, he faced us and raised his arm on high. “It is you who will be blotted from the earth,” he cried. “Before the year’s end we shall meet again. We shall see then who will have the upper hand.” With that he disappeared among the trees. The man in black continued his pacing up and down upon the ground. What André and I had seen and heard cautioned us to keep our peace. At length he stopped and raised a finger in warning. “I caution you,” he said, “that that fellow will be back again. He’ll scheme and plan until he gets revenge. That’s the kind of vermin the King of France sends out to stir up trouble among the Norman barons. You did wrong to let him cross the threshold of your house.” Once more he paced to and fro. No doubt he was thinking some matter to the bottom. We stood open-mouthed, wondering at his confidence and his bearing. The next time he halted it was of another matter that he spoke. “The heir of Gramont is gone,” he said. “He was taken a prisoner down the valley of the Loire. Is it to your interest to have him back?” “He was like a brother to us,” said André, “and the son of my father’s warmest friend. We would gladly give our lives for him. I am sure in like predicament he would do the same for us.” The man’s eyes lit up with a kind of fire. His jaws tightened. By the flicker of a smile that played about his mouth I was sure he was pleased with André’s answer. “The old spirit of the Norman race is with you yet,” he said, “tough and stubborn to the last. It is a good sign. If you will bring Charles of Gramont back, let one of you go down the valley of the Loire. It will be a dangerous undertaking, for you will be among the enemies of your country. Above all, take heed of what you see and hear. Beyond Angers the open territory is dominated by a man called the Abbot of Chalonnes. It will be your business to find him. And it will be he who will return to you the lad you seek—young Charles.” We looked at each other, André and I. “It may be a fool’s errand,” remarked my brother. “How will the Abbot know?—what sign or token shall we give?” The man in black spun on his heels like a top. He said nothing, only ripped open his doublet wide across his chest. To our amazement we saw that underneath instead of a shirt he wore the tanned hide of an animal’s skin with the hair turned outward. With his hand he reached down and from under his belt brought forth a fine yellow plume such as great leaders wear on their helmets on the field of battle. [Illustration: The Arrow Struck With a Click] “Do you know this?” he cried, holding it before us. “It is the tail of a leopard made into a plume,” said André. “It will be enough, then,” he said shortly, “to say to the Abbot of Chalonnes that you have seen this.” He made to go.