“A shrewd one, too.” I wondered to myself what Richelieu meant, and if I was the person expected. Then looking around me, I remarked: “Your house does not hum with business, my friend.” “It hums enough for me. Messieurs of the Carabiniers reserve it entirely for themselves and their friends.” “What! And you refuse all others?” “Oh, no, monsieur! But it is bad for the others when messieurs are here.” “I see. Are none of your friends here to-night?” “Oh! They will come later, about ten o’clock or so.” “_Tiens!_ They are late birds,” and, wishing to end the conversation, I ordered some food and a bottle of Vouvray; then, taking my place near the fire, I sat down to my supper. Mine host tried once or twice to draw me into further talk; but finding his efforts useless, left me to my own devices, and returned to his slumbers. I ate but little, but sipped my wine and began to brood once more over my wrongs, and the sullen anger within me again blazed up fiercely. I thought of Marie, but it was no longer with love. For her sake I had cast aside all that a man holds dear. She had made me dance like a marionette for her amusement, and then--dismissed me with a few cutting words, careless whether she killed my soul or not. Such a thing was a monster, unfit to live, a scourge that it would be righteous to destroy; and--God forgive me! I had sunk so low then that I was prepared to go any lengths to satisfy the unholy craving for revenge for which I thirsted. Now holding my glass to the light, watching the beads chase each other in the wine, then sipping the Vouvray slowly, I went over my plan. Yes, it was complete in every detail, and I gloated over the joy that was to come to me when I repaid my debt. As for Richelieu, he was but an interlude--I hardly gave him a thought. I was sick and sore at heart when he crossed me, and had flown at him like a mad dog. If he won, well, there was an end of things. If I won, I was no better pleased than before, and yet so great was my inward torment that I almost caught myself wishing that Richelieu’s blade would find my heart. At last! After an interminable wait, in which the minutes lagged like hours, I heard the compline, and, awakening the host, paid him his score. “Monsieur does not wait, then, for the Captain?” he said, as he pocketed the coin I gave him. “No; but perhaps I may return. Good-night.” “Good-night, monsieur.” It was clear that I had been mistaken for some one else, and then I remembered that Richelieu had mentioned that he had another appointment. The matter, however, concerned me not, so I banished it from my mind, and, coming out of the inn, I found myself in a few paces at the little door Richelieu had described. I looked for a knocker. There was none, so, drawing my sword, I tapped three times lightly with the steel hilt. A moment after it opened softly, and a tall figure stood before me. It was Richelieu.