“Do you think I am afraid?” asked the other, languidly raising his bent brows. “We are not very likely to meet again,” he added. “No,” assented the Marquis. “You interest me, though. I think your priest here would like to kill me. I wish you joy of your holy companion.” “If I had my way, you would not leave here alive,” said the priest, in a low, calm voice. “You are an atheist and a blasphemer, and a menace to Holy Church.” “And to your safety, Father,” smiled M. Armand. “But go, Monsieur. You are a noble.” Luc bowed. “I will see the heretic is buried,” added M. Armand, “though she would not speak. Adieu. I am sorry you would not have any supper.” “Adieu,” returned Luc gravely. The priest moved from the door, and he stepped out; the last glimpse he had of M. Armand was the picture of him seated on the table finishing his pie. On reaching the yard he found the priest had followed him, and was standing a few paces off watching his movements. He called his servant, and the man came round the corner of the farm leading the two horses. “Where have you been this while?” demanded the priest. The fellow answered respectfully that he had been making the animals ready. Luc mounted and was turning out of the yard when the priest came to his stirrup. “Swear to me on the Gospels, on the Cross, that you will be silent about what you have seen to-night,” he said, in a low voice. “You heard my word,” answered Luc coldly. “And I have told you I believe in neither Cross nor Gospels. Stand away--your habit smells rank to me.” The priest stepped softly back; the servant mounted, and the two rode away. They had gone perhaps half a league before the Marquis recollected that he still did not know the road to Avignon; in his haste to be rid of his companions he had never thought of this. Instantly checking his horse, he looked back at his servant. The dawn was breaking, and the man’s face appeared of a strange pallor. “We do not know the way,” said Luc. “Any way, Monseigneur,” answered the servant, “as long as we do not go back.” “What is the matter?” asked Luc sharply, for the fellow was plainly in a fright. “Monseigneur, I did not mean to tell you. I thought we should both be murdered.” “I thought that possible too,” replied the Marquis calmly. “Anything else?” “Oh, Monseigneur--there _was_ murder. I went back to the barn to fetch my hat. I had the little lantern--and I could not forbear looking in; and there was the foreigner lying dead from a sword-thrust.” CHAPTER XI M. DE RICHELIEU