"Very well; you ought to lend me a hand." "To do what?" "To charge the villains, and make them and their leader beg for mercy." "Are you mad, monsieur?" cried the young man, in a tone which showed that he was not in the least inclined for such an expedition. "Indeed, I ask your pardon," said the traveller; "I forgot that the affair had no interest for you." Turning to his servant, who had halted when his master halted, he said,-- "Come here, Castorin!" At the same time he put his hand to his holsters, as if to make sure that his pistols were in good condition. "Ah, monsieur!" cried the young man at the window, putting out his arms as if to stop him, "monsieur, in Heaven's name do not risk your life in such an adventure! Rather come into the inn, and thereby avoid arousing the suspicion of the men who are waiting for you; consider that the honor of a woman is at stake." "You are right," rejoined the horseman; "although, in this case, it's not her honor, precisely, but her material welfare. Castorin, my good fellow," he added, addressing his servant, who had joined him; "we will go no farther just now." "What!" cried Castorin, almost as disappointed as his master, "what does monsieur say?" "I say that Mademoiselle Francinette will have to do without the pleasure of seeing you this evening, as we shall pass the night at the Golden Calf; go in, therefore, order supper for me, and a bed to be got ready." As he doubtless saw that Monsieur Castorin proposed to make some rejoinder, he accompanied his last words with a movement of the head which effectually precluded any more extended discussion. Castorin at once passed through the gate, crestfallen, and without venturing to say another word. The traveller looked after him for an instant; then, after reflecting for another instant, seemed to have made up his mind what course to adopt. He alighted from his horse, passed through the gate on the heels of his lackey, over whose arm he threw his rein, entered the inn, and in two bounds was at the door of the room occupied by the young gentleman, who, when his door was suddenly thrown open, made an involuntary movement of surprise mingled with alarm, which the new-comer could not detect because of the darkness. "And so," said the latter, approaching the young man with a jovial air, and cordially pressing a hand which was not offered him, "it's a settled fact that I owe you my life." "Oh, monsieur, you exaggerate the service I have done you," said the young man, stepping back. "No, no! no modesty; it's as I say. I know the duke, and he's an infernally brutal fellow. As for you, you are a model of perspicacity, a perfect phœnix of Christian charity. But tell me, my obliging and sympathetic friend, if you carried your thoughtfulness so far as to send word to the house." "To what house?" "_Pardieu!_ to the house where I was going,--the house where I am expected."