So I trudged on, looking neither to the right nor to the left, turning my misfortune over in my mind, and recalling the good points of my horse,--a friend and companion almost since my boyhood,--the comfort of my saddle, and the beauties of my wardrobe, as a starving man will picture to himself the savory details of some banquet he has enjoyed in happier days. And I almost found it in my heart to regret that I had not struck the robber down in that moment when he had dared to turn his back upon me. There were few people on the road, but such as I met stared at me curiously, evidently unable to understand how it was that a young fellow so gallantly arrayed should be footing it through the dust with sour countenance. This of course served only to increase my spleen, and ended in my pulling my hat over my eyes and trudging on without glancing up, even at the rustle of a petticoat. I know not how great a distance I covered in this fashion, but at last the sun, rising high in the heavens, beat down upon me with such ardor that my head began to swim dizzily. I looked about for shelter, and seeing just ahead of me a little cluster of mean houses, hastened my steps in the hope that there might be an inn among them. So indeed there proved to be. But when I came to the threshold of the low, ill-smelling room, dark almost as a dungeon even in full day, I hesitated, for I was armed only with sword and dagger and it was impossible to see what lay within. Decidedly I had no wish to risk my purse, and perhaps my life as well, for the sake of a bottle of bad wine. But a gay voice encouraged me. “Enter, monsieur,” it called. “I was awaiting you.” And as my eyes grew somewhat accustomed to the darkness, I descried, seated at a table in one corner, my enemy, my despoiler, smiling at me as though he were my dearest friend. “Come,” he added, “join me;” and such was the wizardry of his voice and the gesture which accompanied it, that whatever my reluctance, I could not but obey. “What is your name, monsieur?” he asked, as I took the seat opposite his; and he smiled again as he caught my glance. “Jean de Tavernay,” I answered; “and, monsieur, I have to say to you----” “One moment,” he broke in, holding up his hand. “My name perhaps you have already heard?” “Yes, if you are who the Republicans said you were.” “And that was?” “One M. de Favras.” “They are not at your heels?” “No, they returned to Tours.” “Disappointed?” “Extremely so.” He laughed, then grew suddenly sober and knitted his brows in thought, which I somehow dared not interrupt. After all, there was no cause for haste. He could not escape me. “It looked like a trap,” he said, at last. “It was a trap,” I assured him. “And set for me?” “I believe so.” He pondered this a moment longer, then put it from him.