I put together all that I had heard of this man whom Jacques detested so thoroughly.  He was a lawyer, who, by some means, had amassed wealth and lands.  Numerous stories, all evil, were related of him, and it was rumoured that he had long served as a useful tool to persons in high places.  At least he had prospered exceedingly in some mysterious manner, and it was said he had been promised a patent of nobility.  I called for Pierre, and asked if he had heard anything fresh lately of this upstart lawyer.

“No, monsieur,” he answered, “Cordel had gone away before the soldiers came, and he has not yet returned.  He went hurriedly, after a visit from the cavalier who slept here.  Monsieur does not think——­”

“For the present I think nothing, Pierre.  I am tired and will go to bed.  Get me an early breakfast, so that I can proceed on my journey in the cool of the morning.”

Of what use were my suspicions, even if I proved them to be correct?  The mischief was done, and I could not undo it.  My father was a fugitive from his home, to which he dared not return, and it only remained for me to join him.

I went to bed, and, in spite of my anxiety, was soon asleep, for the long journey from Noyers had been both tedious and fatiguing.  Pierre called me early, and while the village still slumbered I set forth.

“Monsieur goes to Rochelle?” asked the old man, as I vaulted lightly into the saddle.

“Yes, at present I intend going to Rochelle.”

“It is said here that the war has begun again.”

“If it has not, it soon will, Pierre, and when it is finished, the Sieur Le Blanc will once more be master of his castle.”

“Heaven grant it, monsieur,” said he earnestly, as I rode off.

The state of the country west of Le Blanc was even more deplorable than what I had seen during my journey to Tanlay.  The fields were bare both of corn and of cattle; the villagers were starving; the people of the towns went about in fear and trembling; the king’s troops robbed as they pleased without restraint.

At Poictiers I found the citizens in a state of dangerous excitement.  Armed bands, some Huguenots, some Catholics, patrolled the streets, singing and shouting, and uttering threats of vengeance.  Fearful of being mixed up in these disturbances, I alighted before the door of the first decent inn, gave my horse to the ostler, and entered.

“Your streets are a trifle dangerous for a peaceful traveller,” I remarked to the landlord, who showed me to a room.

“What would you, monsieur?” he asked, with a shrug of the shoulders; “the times are evil.  These miserable heretics disturb the whole country with their senseless brawls.  But the mischief will be stamped out before long.”

“How?” I said.  “Has not the king granted them the privilege of worshipping in their own way?”

“Ah, monsieur, that was meant but for a time.  The Queen-Mother will make a clean sweep of their rights as soon as she has power enough.  And it is said,” here he lowered his voice to a confidential whisper, “that a royal army is already marching from Paris.  But monsieur is hungry?”