“Many thanks,” I said, as he disappeared.

“’Tis almost a pity,” exclaimed Felix, “that you interfered with your peasants.  You should have let them rid you of that rascally lawyer while they were in the mood.”

“Nonsense!” I replied, “you are talking wildly.  Of course there must be no word of this to Jeanne.”

“I am not likely to alarm her!” he replied, and ran lightly up the steps.

The ladies were full of the approaching ceremony, and could talk of nothing but stomachers and brilliants and gold lace and such like stuff, without which they seemed to imply there could be no wedding at all.  The countess, who had arranged for Jeanne to form one of the young bride’s attendants, had been spending money lavishly on a wonderful dress, and she declared laughingly that when Henry saw my sister he would wish she could change places with Margaret; at which Felix remarked it would certainly show his good taste.

Jeanne laughed and blushed, calling him a flatterer, but she was very happy, and her eyes were sparkling with pleasure.

As our visit drew to a close, she contrived to whisper:  “I have heard from your English friend.  A messenger from La Rochelle brought me a letter yesterday.  He is coming to see you shortly; he may be in France already.”

“Oh,” I replied, “unless he comes quickly he may have to travel as far as Flanders; that is,” I added, slily “if he really wishes to see me.”

“Of course he does,” she answered gaily, “and to visit Paris; he has set his heart on seeing our capital.”

Although very fond of Roger Braund, I felt, somehow, rather sorry to hear Jeanne’s news, and, as we left the house, my comrade rallied me on my thoughtfulness.

“Come,” said he briskly, “we must hurry; the Admiral does not like our being abroad so late,” at which, remembering how persistently he had refused to leave earlier, I laughed heartily.

The streets were for the most part deserted; but in spite of the late hour it was not dark.

“Listen!” exclaimed Felix suddenly, “there is some one following us; he is coming at a quick pace, as if trying to overtake us.  Perhaps it is your quixotic adventurer friend, with a further warning.”

“No,” I replied, “L’Estang is not so heavy; he is more cat-footed.  ’Tis some belated wayfarer like ourselves, in a hurry to reach his lodgings.”

The man caught us up, gave a surly growl in response to our “Good-night,” and passed on rapidly.

“’Tis plain that all the boors do not live in the country,” remarked Felix, as the fellow disappeared.  “I thought all Parisians were noted for their good breeding.”

“Another mistake corrected, my friend.  As we grow older—­ah!  After him, quick!”

A bullet had whizzed past my head, cutting, as I found later, the feather stuck jauntily in my hat—­for we did not choose that Anjou’s gentlemen should exhibit all the airs and graces.  The shot was fired from a low entry, and before the noise of the report had died away Felix, who kept his wits wonderfully, darted inside.