"So be it. Let us pass from this. Now, Monsieur West, the name of the other man? The old man who travelled from Paris to take part in this grievous conference after having travelled beforehand from Holland to Paris. The man who passed as the woman's father?" "Sire, as her father he passed under the name of Châteaugrand. But he was addressed and spoken of as Van den Enden." "A man," exclaimed De Louvois, "well known to La Reynie and to me. A Dutch Jew, who has been everything: doctor, schoolmaster--he speaks all languages--a preacher of atheism, keeper of a bagnio, proprietor of a _tripot_ and spy and plotter. But principally the latter." "'Tis well. Very well. Communicate with La Reynie to-night. He will know his work. Now, Monsieur West, let me hear the rest of your story. When that is told you will remain here as the guest of the King whom you have striven so bravely to serve." CHAPTER XIX Half an hour later Humphrey had told all that had happened to him since he fell senseless from the foul thrust of Fleur de Mai; or rather he had told all he knew and could remember. For memory, consciousness, had failed him from the moment when the truculent but craven bully had essayed that _botte de lâche_ and he had sunk insensible upon the straw of the stable until, some two hours later, he had opened his eyes again upon a scene which brought neither recollection nor understanding to him. He opened his eyes to see a glare shining in them that his disordered mind could not comprehend until, at last, consciousness began to regain its hold upon him, when he was enabled to understand that it proceeded from some miserable light--probably that of a rush-light--which had been placed behind a common bottle filled with water, perhaps with the intention of increasing the flare. He saw, too, that there was a fire burning in the corner of whatever the place might be in which he was lying: a fire made of sticks, not logs, which, since they emitted a horribly pungent odour as well as clouds of smoke, were probably green and damp. Next, as sensibility returned to him, he knew that he was very cold and wet, that he was shivering as a man in a fit of ague shivers, and that he ached all over as though he had been beaten. A moment later, and when he was about to call out to know if there were any person within hail and, if so, to ask where he was, he heard a woman's voice speaking, yet speaking in so strange a patois, or dialect, that he had to devote all the attention his still giddy brain could furnish to grasp what the possessor of that voice said. Still, he was by a great effort enabled to understand the tenor of the words. "Nothing on him, father, nothing!" the voice said. "_Himmel!_ a trout of a kilo would have been a better haul. I would have cast him back into the river and have let the rapids have him. Yet," the speaker added, "his clothes are good, of the best. They are worth something and he is a handsome man."