“Not so fast, Edmond,” he interposed.  “Jeanne is willing to be my wife, but she is not willing to part from you.  She still blames herself for leaving you in Paris, though that, of course, is nonsense.  She could not have done you any good.”

“Most probably, had she stayed, both of us would have been killed.  However, to return to our point; I cannot ask you to cross the ocean with us.”

“It is unnecessary,” said he, smiling cheerfully; “I can ask you to cross the Channel with me.  No, don’t speak yet.  The scheme has several advantages.  You will be out of Cordel’s way, and yet close at hand.  Things are bound to change.  The king may die, or Henry of Navarre may obtain greater influence.  He cannot be kept a prisoner all his life, and the time may come when he is once more at the head of an army.  That will be your opportunity.  A few days will take you across the water, and with Navarre as your friend—­for he is not likely to go back on his pledged word—­you can hope for justice.”

“There is something in that,” I said thoughtfully.

“There is everything, my dear fellow.  Now, on the other hand, by sailing to the New World, you will cut yourself off from France for ever; and lose all chance of regaining your estates.  The rascally lawyer will be left to enjoy his stolen property in peace.”

This was an argument that touched me nearly, and Roger, perceiving the effect it produced, harped upon it so strongly that at last I agreed to accompany him to his English home.  There was, however, still my servant to be considered, but Roger declared merrily there was plenty of room for Jacques, who should be given the charge of the stables.

“And,” added the generous fellow, “I shall be the gainer by that, for he is a splendid judge of horses!” which was perfectly true.

I had a talk with Jacques the same evening and asked him to give me his opinion freely on the subject.  The honest fellow did not hesitate an instant.

“Go with Monsieur Braund by all means,” said he.  “As long as the King of Navarre remains a prisoner you can do nothing, but directly he is free you will have a chance of settling accounts with this Cordel.  To go to the New World will be to acknowledge yourself beaten.”

“You are right, Jacques,” I said; “we will stay in England, and bide our time.”

“It will come, monsieur, be assured of that; and then let Etienne Cordel look out for himself.”

We were still talking about the lawyer when Roger came in, bringing a note that had been left by a stranger at the Hotel Coligny.  It was addressed to me, and I recognized the handwriting immediately.

“’Tis from L’Estang,” I said; “what can he have to say?”

“Open it and see,” suggested Roger merrily, “that is the easiest way of finding out!”

The contents were brief, but they made me bite my lips hard.  “Cordel has been granted the Le Blanc estates, and in all likelihood a patent of nobility will be made out in a few weeks.  His assassins are still seeking for you.”