“Did he tell you his name?” I asked.

“No; he is a surly rascal.  If he were to be in our company long, I should have to teach him good manners.  Had I not better waken him?  We shall not reach Poictiers to-night.”

“Yes; tell him we are ready to start.  I have no wish to pass the night at some village inn.”

L’Estang’s messenger was indeed a surly fellow.  He came into the courtyard rubbing his eyes and grumbling at being disturbed.  His patron might not reach the town before the morning, he said, and it would be better for us to make a two days’ journey.  His horse was tired, and likely to break down on the way.

“Little fear of that!” declared Jacques brusquely; “the beast has strength for a hundred miles yet.  ’Tis as fine a creature as I have seen.”

The courier looked at him with a gratified smile.  “Yes,” he said, brightening up, “’tis as good an animal as monsieur has in his stables.”

He replaced the saddle and tightened the girths, but spent so much time over the business that Jacques was hard put to it to restrain his impatience.  However, he was ready at last, and we all three rode down the slope, and along the road toward the wood.

Jacques and the courier rode together a little in the rear, and, turning round, I remarked pleasantly, “By the way, my good fellow, I suppose you have a name of your own?”

“I can’t say if it’s mine or not,” he replied sulkily, “but men call me Casimir.”

“Is this the place where you were attacked?” I asked, as we came to the wood.

The fellow returned no answer, but, suddenly seizing his pistol and spurring his horse cruelly, he dashed to the front and disappeared.  A minute or two later, we heard a loud report, and Jacques and I gazed at each other in amazement.

“Your friend sent you a pretty guide, monsieur,” said Jacques; “the fellow must be crazy!”

“He fancied, perhaps, that he perceived one of his assailants.”

“I saw nothing, and heard nothing; but he is coming back.  Well, my friend, did you get a successful shot?”

“No,” replied Casimir, who seemed angry at his own clumsiness, “I missed.  But there are more days than one in a week, and my turn will come yet!  Did you get a good view of the fellow, monsieur?”

I admitted that I had neither seen nor heard any one, at which he cried scornfully:  “’Tis plain I shall have to be eyes and ears for the party.  He was half hidden by yonder tree, but I saw the barrel of his arquebus.  Had I known I was to be dragged into your quarrels, I would have stayed in Paris!”

“Tell me where to find your patron, and you can return at once,” I said sternly; “I want no unwilling service!” but, muttering something under his breath he once more took his place beside Jacques.

“’Tis a rough dog, L’Estang has sent me,” I thought, “but one that will bite if need be.  I wonder if the fellow he fired at was one of Cordel’s ruffians?  Strange that neither Jacques nor I saw him.”