“There are things one does not speak of, messieurs,” he said, with a simper, and winked his hare-like eyes. “Quite right, St. Cyergue! Though I little thought you would ever be a conspirator.” “Conspirator! I! _Diable!_ But you mistake. It was an affair--a grand dame, if you must know.” “Keep your secret, Baron. Yet such a man as you are must have his hands full of affairs.” “Oh, no! No! Perhaps one or two; but that is all. Still, there was something of excitement about this one, and, as we are all friends here, I will tell you. You know de Semiers--tall, thin, with a nose like a vulture, and a heart as jealous as a Spaniard’s. Well, he raised a fuss about madame, and we had a pass or so on the parvis of Ste. Croix. He was a child in my hands, I assure you, and in the shake of a sparrow’s tail it was all over, and monsieur was pinked through the ribs, and will have to keep his bed for a month. Now, _mordioux!_ as the Gascons say, what do you think happened? Madame herself made an outcry; your uncle Cipierre sent his Swiss after me; and it would have gone hard with St. Cyergue, I assure you, but for that business at the storming of Calais, when I drove the English back, and another I will not name took the credit. So what with this, and my losses at play, I judged it best to retreat for a time. But you must sup with me to-night; I have some rare old Romanée, soft as velvet, and as light as air.” “A thousand thanks, but I fear we cannot have that honor, Baron. We but await fresh horses to push on to Orleans.” He was still pressing us, however, when the landlord made his appearance to say that Badehorn had arrived, and he added to this the bad news that other horses were not procurable in Chenonceaux. Perhaps, however, if we sent to Bléré, or Montrichard, we might get them by to-morrow. “What!” I said; “it is market day. Your yard is humming with clients. All the countryside is here, and no horses for sale or hire?” “Monsieur can judge for himself. They have asses and mules enough, but no horses for sale or hire--it is indeed true.” And then he added, as if with an inspiration, “Perhaps Monsieur de Rabutin would be able to lend you horses, messieurs.” “The Governor of the Château?” “Monsieur, the horses of the Queen-Mother are there.” “It is worth trying,” I began; but now St. Cyergue stepped in to rescue us from our difficulty, and very good-naturedly offered to lend us two horses of his own, adding at the same time that they were gifts to him from the Duke of Guise.