"You know the Latin proverb: _Ne nimium crede colori_,--the wise man doesn't judge by appearances. Now I make some pretensions to wisdom, and the consequence is that, under this deceitful costume, I have recognized--" "What?" demanded the traveller, impatiently. "Why, I have already told you,--a woman!" "Well, if I am a woman, why do you stop me?" "_Peste!_ Because, in times like these, women are more dangerous than men; indeed, the war in which we are engaged might, properly speaking, be called the war of women. The queen and Madame de Condé are the two belligerent powers. They have taken for lieutenant-generals Mademoiselle de Chevreuse, Madame de Montbazon, Madame de Longueville--and yourself. Mademoiselle de Chevreuse is Monsieur le Coadjuteur's general, Madame de Montbazon is Monsieur de Beaufort's, Madame de Longueville Monsieur de La Rochefoucauld's, and you--you have every appearance of being Monsieur le Duc d'Épernon's." "You are mad, monsieur," said the young traveller, shrugging his shoulders. "I should not be inclined to believe you, fair lady, were it not for the fact that a handsome youth paid me the same compliment a moment since." "Perhaps he was a woman whom you persisted in calling a man." "Even so. I recognized my fine gentleman from having seen him on a certain evening early in May, prowling around Master Biscarros' inn, and I was not to be taken in by his petticoats and his wigs and his little soft voice, any more than I am taken in by your gray felt, and your fancy boots; and I said to him: 'My young friend, take what name you choose, wear what costume you choose, assume what voice you choose, you will be the Vicomte de Cambes none the less. '" "The Vicomte de Cambes!" cried the traveller. "Ah! the name seems to make an impression upon you. Do you happen to know him?" "A very young man, almost a child?" "Seventeen or eighteen years old, at most." "Very fair?" "Very fair." "Large blue eyes?" "Very large, very blue." "Is he here?" "He is here." "And you say that he is--" "Disguised as a woman, the rascal,--as you are as a man, slyboots." "Why is he here, pray?" cried the young man, vehemently, and with evident distress, which increased perceptibly as Cauvignac assumed a more serious tone, and became more sparing of his words. "Why," he replied, enunciating every syllable with great distinctness, "he claims to have an appointment with one of his friends." "One of his friends?" "Yes." "A gentleman?" "Probably." "A baron?" "Perhaps." "And his name is--" Cauvignac's brow contracted beneath a weighty thought which then first presented itself to his mind, and caused a perceptible commotion in his brain. "Oho!" he muttered, "that would be a pretty kettle offish." "And his name?" the traveller repeated. "Wait a moment," said Cauvignac; "wait a moment--his name ends in _olles._"