“I know a better spot--the garden of the Jacobins. We shall be safe from interruption there.” I started slightly at the words, and noticed, too, that Richelieu observed me, for he looked at me keenly as I answered: “As you please, monsieur; but will it not be necessary to pass through the Priory to get to the garden?” “There is a door opposite the inn called the Red Rabbit; you cannot mistake the sign. Be there on the stroke to nine, and knock thrice. It will be opened to you.” “I shall not fail.” “And I trust, monsieur, our conversation then will be agreeable to you.” “It will be more agreeable than this, I have no doubt--your servant, Monsieur de Richelieu.” We lifted our hats to each other, and parted as politely as if we were two friends giving each other the day. As I rode down toward the Martroi, I could not help wondering to myself at the strange coincidence, that both Richelieu and Achon should have chosen the Jacobin priory for our meeting. There was certainly something behind this, perhaps treachery to me; but come what may I was determined to keep my tryst. I was like a bear that had been baited to fury. I was strong as a bull, and had had a sword placed in my hands ere I was ten years of age. I smiled grimly as I rode under the lions above Cipierre’s gate, thinking to myself that Richelieu was likely to find our conversation more interesting than he imagined. Once in the house, I made a hasty meal, and then went to see in what condition my horse was--the one I had used this morning having been borrowed from Cipierre. I found my nag looking sleek and fit for work, and, giving orders to have him saddled in an hour’s time, sought the great hall and flung myself into a chair near the fire. Marcilly was with the Prince. Cipierre was still at the palace, and I was glad of that. I was disinclined for company. I could not have borne to speak with any one then; I could not even think, but sat before the fire nursing my fury. At last the time came for me to start, and with a message that I would, perhaps, be late I rode out, this time alone. Marie was already before St. Pierre as I came up. She looked pale and nervous, but her voice was firm as she replied to my apologies for not being there to receive her. “You have not kept me waiting at all; I have but just come,” and then she went on: “It was with the greatest difficulty I got away.” “We had better not delay a moment,” I answered, and putting our horses to the trot, we went forward at a rapid pace. Up to the time we were free of the gates we did not exchange a word, and the silence continued for a short time after, as we galloped along the winter road; but at last we reined in, to give our horses breathing space, and then she spoke. “Monsieur,” she said, “I feel I ought to thank you for what you are doing. Believe me, I shall remember this.” “As long as an old glove or a worn-out mask,” I said bitterly, and she flushed scarlet.