Suddenly the door was pushed open noiselessly, and the adventurer stood before me beckoning.  I rose from my seat and followed him without a word into another apartment.  In the bed in the alcove a woman lay dying.  She must have been beautiful in her youth, and traces of beauty still lingered on her face.  She stretched out her hands and drew my head down to hers.

“Renaud tells me you have done him a great service,” she said feebly.  “It is through you that he was able to come to me.  A dying woman blesses you, monsieur, and surely the saints will reward you.  A goodly youth!  A goodly youth!  May God hold you in His holy keeping!  Treasure him, Renaud, my son, even to the giving of your life for his!”

Her eyes closed, she sank back exhausted, and I stole from the room.  How my heart ached that night!  “Treasure him, Renaud!” Poor soul!  How merciful that she should die ignorant of the wretched truth!  “Even to the giving of your life for his!” And his life was in my hands already!  Oh, the pity, the horror of it!  She called on God to bless me, and I was about to lead her only son straight from her death-bed to the executioner!

For I could not disguise from myself the fact that this man would die the death of a spy.  Ambroise Devine was in Rochelle, and he would show no mercy.  And, terrible as it might seem, there were those in the city who would scout the idea that Renaud L’Estang had risked his life solely to visit his dying mother.  “He is a spy,” they would declare hotly; “let him die a spy’s death!”

“It is not my fault,” I said to myself angrily; “he has lost; he must pay forfeit!”

“A dying woman blesses you, and surely the saints will reward you!” The room was filled with the words; they buzzed in my ears, and beat into my brain continually; I could not rid myself of them.  “A dying woman!” Ay, perhaps a dead woman by now, and her son following swiftly as the night the day!  I could have cried aloud in my agony of mind.

CHAPTER VII

A Commission for the Admiral

“It is over, monsieur.”

Renaud L’Estang stood before me, his face drawn and haggard, and heavy with a great grief.  He had stolen in noiselessly; his sword and pistol lay within reach of his hand; he might have killed me without effort, and saved his own life.  The thought flashed into my mind, but died away instantly.  From the moment when he told his story I had never once mistrusted him.

“Your mother has passed away?” I questioned in a tone of sympathy.

“She died in my arms; her last moments were full of peace.  Now, I am at your service.”

“You are faint,” I said.  “Will it not be advisable to break your fast before starting out?  You will need all your strength.”

“I cannot eat.”

“Yet it is necessary.  Pardon me if I summon your servant.”

He allowed himself to be treated almost as a child, eating and drinking mechanically what was set before him, hardly conscious of my presence, unable to detach his thoughts from the sombre picture in the adjoining apartment.  At last he had finished, and I said gently, “Have you made arrangements for your mother’s burial?”