“In what way, monsieur.”

“It brings us face to face with this question—­was Casimir in the pay of two employers—­one my friend the other my enemy?”

“Pardon me, monsieur,” exclaimed Jacques hesitatingly, “but are you sure this adventurer is your friend?  He once tried to take your life; he belongs to the opposite camp, and he is a henchman of Monseigneur’s, who certainly does not love the Huguenots.  You have done this man a service, but it is easy to forget benefits.”

“I am afraid that is so, Jacques, yet I cannot doubt L’Estang.  Besides, he had me in his power the night he came here.”

“Yes,” said my servant, with a queer smile, “but he knew that had he done you any harm he would never have left the room alive.”

“Still, we will assume that L’Estang is really my friend.  In that case Casimir must have sold his knowledge to the lawyer.  But if he was in touch with Cordel, who would shoot at him in the wood?”

“A friendly hand could shoot a hole through a cloak.  Of course, it is just possible Casimir did not come from L’Estang at all.  It is as easy to kill two messengers as one, and the first was killed.”

“But how would he know what was in the letter?  It had not been opened.”

“I had not thought of that,” said Jacques.  “It drives me back on my first suspicion, which monsieur does not like.  But, unless L’Estang helped in the plot, I cannot understand how it was carried out!”

We sat talking half the night, but without coming any nearer to solving the problem, and at last, thoroughly tired, I went to bed.  Out of the whole tangle one thing only was plain—­Etienne Cordel was playing a desperate game, and no scruples would prevent him from winning it.

And there was no way of getting at the rascal!  He laid his plots with so much skill that I could accuse him of nothing.  I had no real proofs against him, and without proofs he could laugh in my face.

The story of the attempt on my life quickly spread abroad, and the villagers came in a crowd to learn if I had been injured.

“Who are the villains, monsieur?” cried Urie.  “Tell us who they are, and we will make an end of them.”

“Ay,” said another; “we will pull them in pieces!” and his companions shouted their approval.

“No,” I exclaimed, “you must do nothing against the law, or you will be made to suffer for it.  Two of the rascals are dead, and the others are not likely to trouble me again.  But there is no harm in keeping watch on any strangers hanging about the neighbourhood.”

“We will do that, monsieur!” they cried, and at last I succeeded in persuading them to return to their homes.

The excitement, however, did not die down, and the next evening Jacques informed me there was a fierce talk going on at old Pierre’s.  Some one had started the report that my enemy was Etienne Cordel, and a cry had been raised to march to his house and burn it about his ears.