“What is Anjou doing now, monsieur?” asked a man at one of the other tables.

“Killing,” said the stranger briefly.  “Rochelle will soon be able to hold all those left of the Religion.”

“I vow,” exclaimed an iron-featured trooper, “it makes one wonder our leaders should keep us cooped up here.”

“You had better offer your opinion to the Admiral, or to Conde,” said the stranger with a laugh, and he turned his attention to the food that had been set before him.

He ate and drank quickly, taking no further part in the conversation, but apparently as much at ease as if sitting at Anjou’s table.

“You will require a room, monsieur?” said the host presently.

“I will pay for one, though I may not use it.”

“And your horse, monsieur?”

“Will remain in the stables.”

He had nearly finished his meal now, and, acting on a sudden impulse, I crossed the room and sat down opposite him.  He looked up at me in a casual way, and the next instant understood he was discovered.  But the man had nerves of iron; not a muscle of his face moved; only by the sudden light in his eyes did I know that he recognized me.

“The game is to me, monsieur,” I said simply.

“Yes,” he agreed, “the game is yours, but do not claim the stakes until I have spoken with you.”

“The game is altogether finished, monsieur, and you have lost; you cannot throw again.”

“A fig for the game!” he said; “you have but to raise your voice, and these bloodhounds will bury their fangs in my heart.  I know that, and do not complain.  I ask only a few hours’ freedom.”

“Surely, monsieur, in the circumstance, that is a strange request!”

“A riddle is always strange when one does not possess the key.  For instance, you believe I have entered Rochelle as a spy.”

“Exactly.”

“And yet you are mistaken.  I suppose you will laugh at my story, but I must tell it you.  You know me only as an opponent.”

“A clever and a daring one.”

“And yet you foiled me!  But that is not to the point.  My name is Renaud L’Estang.  My father was a gentleman, poor and without influence; I had good blood in my veins but no money in my purse.  My only chance of wealth lay in my sword.  I sold it to the highest bidder.  In short, monsieur, I am an adventurer, no better and no worse than thousands of others.”

“And in the pay of the League!”

“At present,” he corrected, with a courteous inclination of the head, “in the service of the Duke of Anjou.”

“Why did you attack me at Nevers?”

“To obtain possession of the letter of whose contents we were in ignorance.”

“And you denounced my father to the Duke!”

“There you wrong me.  I endeavoured to capture the letter; I failed, and my part in the affair was over; but again I am wandering from the point, which is to explain my presence in Rochelle.  Monsieur, has it ever occurred to you that a man who earns his livelihood by his sword may have a heart the same as more innocent persons?”