“That can be done only by another war, Jacques, and surely we have had enough of cutting one another’s throats!”

“It must be either war or murder,” he responded.  “The Guises won’t rest until they become masters.  France will swim in blood one of these days.  Do you know, monsieur, I am glad that Mademoiselle Jeanne is not at the castle!”

Jeanne was my sister, who, since the peace, had been living at Rochelle with an invalid aunt.  She was seventeen years of age, a year older than myself, and a girl of beauty and courage.

“You are in a gloomy mood, Jacques, and fancying all kinds of dangers that are not likely to happen.  Why, even the stranger we met at Le Blanc alarmed you.”

“He alarms me yet,” replied Jacques gravely; “he is a bird of ill omen.”

“Come,” I said banteringly, “let us have a canter; it will clear the cobwebs from your brain, besides helping us on our way to Saintbreuil,” the little town where we intended to pass the night and to procure fresh horses.  Jacques had an acquaintance at Saintbreuil—­an innkeeper who secretly favoured the Cause without possessing sufficient courage to declare his opinions.

The night had grown somewhat late by the time of our arrival, but we managed to secure admittance, and Jacques had no difficulty in finding the inn—­a fairly decent house in a small square.

“A quiet room, Edouard, and some supper,” said my companion to the host, “and serve us yourself.  There is no need that all Saintbreuil should learn of our being here.  And be quick, for we are tired and hungry, and there is business to transact.”

The landlord, a nervous-looking fellow, took us quickly to a chamber at the farther end of the house, and in a short time we were sitting down to a well-spread table.

“Is the town quiet?” asked Jacques presently.

“Quiet, but uneasy.  The citizens are afraid of they know not what.  There is a whisper that the peace will be broken.”

“Humph! there is more than a whisper in some parts; but listen to me, Edouard; monsieur and I are travelling fast.  We have nearly foundered our animals, and yet it is necessary to push on again directly the gates are opened.  You must procure us fresh horses, the best that can be got.”

“And the two in the stables?”

“Can go in exchange.”

“You will have to pay heavily.”

“Of course we shall, my dear Edouard, but monsieur is prepared to open his purse.  Get them into the stable to-night, and call us at daybreak.”

“Can you trust him to procure really good animals?” I asked, when the man had gone out.

“There are few keener judges of horseflesh than Edouard, monsieur; and now let us to bed.”

Jacques had lost his gloomy fit; there seemed little likelihood of danger, and I slept soundly till wakened by our host.  Dressing hastily we went straight to the stables, and were more than satisfied with our new animals.  They were beautiful creatures, shaped for both speed and endurance, and I did not grudge the money the landlord had spent.