“My true name when at home is Quentin Durward,” said the youth.

Proceeding along a path they came in sight of the whole front of the Castle of Plessis-les-Tours.

“I have some friend to see in this quarter,” said Durward.  “My mother’s own brother, Ludovic Lesly—­an honest and noble name.”

“And so it is I doubt not,” said the old man.  “But of three Leslies in the Scottish Guard two are called Ludovic.”

“They call my kinsman Ludovic with the Scar,” said Quentin.

“The man you speak of we, I think, call Le Balafre; from that scar on his face,” answered his companion.  “A proper man and a good soldier.  Men call me Maitre Pierre—­a plain man.  I owe you a breakfast, Master Quentin, for the wetting my mistake procured you.”

While they were speaking they reached the entrance of the village of Plessis, and presently approached the court-yard of an inn of unusual magnitude.

Maitre Pierre lifted the latch of the side door, and led the way into a large room, where arrangements had been made for a substantial breakfast.  He whistled and the landlord entered, and bowed with reverence.

Quentin Durward had eaten little for two days, and Maitre Pierre seemed delighted with the appetite of the young Scot, who indeed devoured an enormous repast.  When his appetite had been satisfied, and the old man had put several questions, the door opened, and a girl, whose countenance, so young and so lovely, was graver, Quentin thought, than belongs to an early beauty, entered with a platter and a cup of delicate workmanship.

“How now, Jacqueline?” said Maitre Pierre.  “Did I not desire that Dame Perette should bring what I wanted?  But I blame thee not, thou art too young to be—­what thou must be one day—­a false and treacherous thing, like the rest of thy giddy sex.  Here is a Scottish cavalier will tell you the same.”

But Durward, with the feelings of youth, answered hastily, “That he would throw down his gage to any antagonist, of equal rank and equal age, who should presume to say such a countenance as that which he now looked upon could be animated by other than the purest and the truest mind.”

The young woman grew deadly pale, and cast an apprehensive glance upon Maitre Pierre, in whom the bravado of the young gallant seemed only to excite laughter.

Jacqueline vanished, and Maitre Pierre, after filling a goblet with silver pieces, and bidding Quentin Durward take it and remain in the hostelry until he had seen his kinsman, Le Balafre, also left the apartment.

Within a short time Ludovic Lesly, or Le Balafre (as he was generally known), a robust hard-featured soldier upwards of six feet high, was announced.

Quentin greeted his uncle, and the following day the as taken before Lord Crawford, the commander of the Scottish Archers, the king’s bodyguard, and enrolled in that honourable corps as esquire to Le Balafre.