"Alas, Monseigneur," rejoined Arnauld, piteously, "the answer to be made to him, I regret to inform you, will be that faithful Martin-Guerre, on his way back to his master with the ransom which he had been sent after, unluckily fell into the hands of a party of Spaniards, who, having probably rifled his pockets and robbed him, cruelly hanged him at the gates of Noyon to assure his silence." "What's that? Do you mean to be hanged, Arnauld?" "I have been, Monseigneur; see how zealous I am in your service. It will only be as to the date of the execution that the various versions of the story will differ somewhat. But can one believe plundering soldiers who are interested in concealing the truth? Come, Monseigneur!" continued the audacious fellow, gayly but with determination in his tone; "believe that my precautions have been very carefully taken, and that with an experienced blade like myself there is not the slightest danger that your Excellency will ever be compromised. If prudence were banished from earth, it would take refuge in the heart of a hanged man. Besides, I say again, you will only be declaring what is true. I have served you for a long while, as a number of your people can bear witness as well as yourself; and you have given me quite ten thousand crowns in all, be sure of that. Do you want me to give you a receipt for it?" added the scamp, magnificently. The constable could not restrain a smile. "Yes," said he, "I do, varlet; if at the end of the account--" Arnauld interrupted. "Come, come, Monseigneur," said he; "you are only quibbling about the form now, and what do superior minds like ours care for form? Just sign without any more ado." He spread out upon the table before Montmorency the document which needed only his signature. "But in the first place, the name of the city where Diane de Castro is confined, and of the man whose prisoner she is?" "Name for name, Monseigneur; put yours at the foot of this paper, and you shall have the others." "Very good," said Montmorency. He dashed off the bold scrawl which served him for a signature. "And the seal, Monseigneur?" "There it is; now are you satisfied?" "As thoroughly as if Monseigneur had given me the ten thousand crowns." "Well, then, where is Diane?" "In the hands of Lord Wentworth at Calais," replied Arnauld, trying to grasp the document from the hand of the constable, who still held on to it. "One moment," said he; "and Vicomte d'Exmès?" "At Calais, in the hands of Lord Wentworth." "Then he and Diane see each other?" "No, Monseigneur; he lives at the house of an armorer, one Pierre Peuquoy, while she is an inmate of the governor's house. Vicomte d'Exmès has no more idea than you, I am willing to swear, that she is so near him." "I must hasten to the Louvre," said the constable, relaxing his hold on the paper. "And I to Artigues," cried Arnauld, in triumph. "Good luck, Monseigneur! Try not to be a constable who is laughed at again."