“We would not have been such good friends as we are now, but I should have been within a league of Yvoy le Marron, where the Constable lies. To make the story short, I resisted the temptation for our friendship’s sake, de Vibrac, and sought the next stall, to find there a mule--a yellow mule as I live--nevertheless he seemed a stout beast, and would serve at a pinch. I looked round to see if any one was by, but there was no one watching, so I made a shift to go back to my own horse to fetch his saddle. As I came out of the stall into the flagged passage, a light suddenly flashed before my eyes, and some one struck at me. I started back, luckily, or else I had never spoken again, but the blow grazed my good steel cap, and sent me flying. The next moment I was seized and pinned down. I made a struggle for it, as you may think, and shouted out for help, the Lord knows why, for I knew well enough there was no help at hand; but all was useless. There were four men against me--stout fellows--and in a twinkling I was gagged and bound. Then they took away my arms and money, and searched me. But they did not find what they wanted, and at last one of them flashed the lantern again in my face as he asked me roughly: “‘Where is the letter?’ “‘Oh! ho!’ I said to myself, as it came to me in a moment that there was more in this than I thought, and that there must have been a traitor somewhere.” “The traitors were our own tongues, Ponthieu; every word of our talk was overheard by Achon.” He looked at me, his black eyes staring with astonishment. “Overheard! Impossible! There was not a soul in the room.” “We both forgot that big press, Ponthieu. Achon lay in wait behind that. But go on with your story. I will tell you mine later on.” “_Cap de Diou!_ That explains things,” he said. “And to go on. At the demand for the letter, I thanked the saints in my heart that the Admiral had given me a decoy duck, an empty sealed packet, which I had sewn in my vest, while the real letter, the blank paper itself, lay on the inside of the sole of my boot.” “Then Achon never got that?” I eagerly asked. Ponthieu laughed as he stuck out his left foot. “It is here,” he said, as he went on: “I, of course, could not answer, but mumbled something under the gag, and, seeing this, they undid the bandage, and asked the question again, the man who had first spoken saying that if I would keep my skin I had best speak out at once. I pretended to be overcome with fear, and told them of the letter, begging with a trembling voice for my life. They cut open my vest in a moment, and when they found the letter, I began to implore and entreat again for my life, saying I would tell all if they would but free me. “‘Ugh!’ said one of them, as he gave me a kick. ‘’Tis the whitest-livered cur I have seen--the _cachots_ are too good for him--he is best in the stocks.’