“But the king’s command, your Highness.”

“I will tell the king when I see him that I left soldiers and that I find brigands.  Not a word, sir!  Away!  You take your shame with you, and you leave your honour behind.”  He had turned in an instant from the sneering, strutting old beau to the fierce soldier with set face and eye of fire.  Dalbert shrank back from his baleful gaze, and muttering an order to his men, they filed off down the stair with clattering feet and clank of sabres.

“Your Highness,” said the old Huguenot, coming forward and throwing open one of the doors which led from the landing, “you have indeed been a saviour of Israel and a stumbling-block to the froward this day.  Will you not deign to rest under my roof, and even to take a cup of wine ere you go onwards?”

Conde raised his thick eyebrows at the scriptural fashion of the merchant’s speech, but he bowed courteously to the invitation, and entered the chamber, looking around him in surprise and admiration at its magnificence.  With its panelling of dark shining oak, its polished floor, its stately marble chimney-piece, and its beautifully moulded ceiling, it was indeed a room which might have graced a palace.

“My carriage waits below,” said he, “and I must not delay longer.  It is not often that I leave my castle of Chantilly to come to Paris, and it was a fortunate chance which made me pass in time to be of service to honest men.  When a house hangs out such a sign as an officer of dragoons with his heels in the air, it is hard to drive past without a question.  But I fear that as long as you are a Huguenot, there will be no peace for you in France, monsieur.”

“The law is indeed heavy upon us.”

“And will be heavier if what I hear from court is correct.  I wonder that you do not fly the country.”

“My business and my duty lie here.”

“Well, every man knows his own affairs best.  Would it not be wise to bend to the storm, heh?”

The Huguenot gave a gesture of horror.

“Well, well, I meant no harm.  And where is this fair maid who has been the cause of the broil?”

“Where is Adele, Pierre?” asked the merchant of the old servant, who had carried in the silver tray with a squat flask and tinted Venetian glasses.

“I locked her in my room, master.”

“And where is she now?”

“I am here, father.”  The young girl sprang into the room, and threw her arms round the old merchant’s neck.  “Oh, I trust these wicked men have not hurt you, love!”

“No, no, dear child; none of us have been hurt, thanks to his Highness the Prince of Conde here.”

Adele raised her eyes, and quickly drooped them again before the keen questioning gaze of the old soldier.  “May God reward your Highness!” she stammered.  In her confusion the blood rushed to her face, which was perfect in feature and expression.  With her sweet delicate contour, her large gray eyes, and the sweep of the lustrous hair, setting off with its rich tint the little shell-like ears and the alabaster whiteness of the neck and throat, even Conde, who had seen all the beauties of three courts and of sixty years defile before him, stood staring in admiration at the Huguenot maiden.