Before the troop came up, I dismounted, and bending over my comrade whispered, “Who is this St. Cyr?”

“A friend,” he replied; “the papers are safe now; you can trust him.”

A noble-looking gentleman rode in front of the troop.  He was well advanced in years—­at least fourscore, as I afterwards learned—­but he sat erect in his saddle, and his eyes were keen and vigorous.

“What is the meaning of this, monsieur?” he asked sternly, as I went toward him.

“Am I speaking to the Lord St. Cyr?” I asked.

“I am the Count of St. Cyr.”

“Then, my lord, I can speak freely.  My name is Edmond Le Blanc; my father is the Sieur Le Blanc——­”

“Sufficient recommendation,” he interrupted, with a genial smile.

“My servant and I were on our way to Tanlay, carrying important despatches to the Admiral.  At the ford we were attacked by five ruffians.  Two were wounded; the others followed us here.”

“What was their object?”

“I fear, my lord, they must have learned the nature of my mission.”

“And wished to obtain possession of the papers!  Are they really of great importance?”

“The original bearer, my lord, was waylaid and grievously wounded near my home.  He assured me solemnly that their loss would probably plunge thousands of Frenchmen into mourning.  He hinted at some special peril to the Admiral.”

“You have made a gallant fight,” said the count, “and Providence has plainly sent us to your aid.  Your servant is wounded I see.  Leave him to my care, and meanwhile I will provide you with suitable escort.  The ruffians will think twice before venturing to attack my gentlemen.”

“One of our assailants is hurt, my lord.”

“We will attend to him also; he cannot be left to die.”

During this conversation, a man soberly clad and evidently a minister of the Religion—­he was, in truth, though wearing a sword, the count’s private chaplain—­had been attending to Jacques.  Now he stepped forward, and said, “The man is weak from loss of blood, but his wounds are not serious; he should speedily recover his strength.”

“That is good hearing for Monsieur Le Blanc,” said the count.  “Pray tell your servant that he has fallen into friendly hands.”

I ran joyfully to Jacques, who looked at me with a smile.  “It is all right now, monsieur,” said he; “the journey is as good as done.”

“Still, I wish we could finish it together, but that is impossible.  I must leave you with Lord St. Cyr, and push on.  He has promised to furnish me with an escort.”

“Do not delay, monsieur; time is precious.”

I gave him a portion of my money, bade him be of good cheer, and returned to the count, who had already selected six of his gentlemen to accompany me.

“Keep free from brawls,” he advised their leader, “and ride with all speed.  Remember that you are engaged on a matter that may involve the life of our chief.”