We talked the plan over, and at length I agreed that Jacques should start on the journey the next morning.  I gave him the name of my strange friend, and he promised to get to work with the utmost caution.

“It is possible,” I remarked, “you will find him at Blois, and in that case you will have an opportunity of talking with Monsieur Bellievre.  Tell him that Mademoiselle Jeanne is accompanying the Queen of Navarre.”

He went to the stables, and I did not see him again until just before my time for going to bed, when he returned looking gloomy and troubled.

“I have been thinking, monsieur,” he said rather shamefacedly, “and I am beginning to doubt the wisdom of my advice.  If Cordel’s ruffians are close at hand, my going away will make their work easier.  Now that it comes to the point I do not like leaving you, and that is the truth.”

“That’s a poor compliment, Jacques!” I laughed; “evidently you don’t think I can take care of myself.”

“The poor fellow they brought here this morning was as strong as you, and had as much experience, but he is dead all the same.”

“I will take care, Jacques; I will go only into the village, and if it will make you feel more easy, Urie shall sleep here at night all the time you are away.”

He was somewhat relieved by this promise, and his face brightened considerably.

“Let Urie bring an iron bar,” he laughed, “and a man need wear a thick steel cap to save his skull!”

I went to bed hoping to obtain a good night’s rest, but the startling tragedy had weakened my nerves more than I guessed, and I lay awake a long time, wondering what the secret was that the dead man had carried with him to the grave.  Was he really a messenger from L’Estang?  And if so, what was the news he was bringing?  I little dreamed that one of these questions was to be answered within a few hours.

We rose early; I saw that Jacques made a good breakfast, and was standing in the courtyard giving him his final instructions when we heard the clatter of hoofs, and saw a horseman coming at a gallop up the slope.

“Another visitor!” I exclaimed, “and one apparently in a desperate hurry.”

Jacques dismounted, saying, “He looks as if he had been frightened half out of his wits.  Stay here, monsieur, while I find out what he wants.”

In a few minutes he returned with the man, who, jumping from his horse, said questioningly, “Monsieur Le Blanc?”

“Yes,” I said, looking at him keenly.  He might have been own brother to the poor fellow whom Urie had found by the wood.  He was short but strongly built; his face was scarred; his skin red and rough through continual exposure to the weather.  He carried a sword and a long knife, and a pair of pistols peeped from the holsters.  Plainly he was a man accustomed to take his life in his hand.

“You have ridden fast!” I remarked, for his animal’s sides were lathered with foam.