“But that does not concern me!”

L’Estang looked at me a moment before replying.  “It concerns you very nearly, monsieur.  Cordel expects to be paid for his work, and his wages were agreed upon long ago.  They are the estates of Le Blanc, and a patent of nobility.  Cordel flies high.”

“It appears so.”

“As you know, the estates were confiscated, and he was made receiver for the crown.  That was the first step.  Good progress had been made with the second, when Coligny appealed to the king at Blois.”

“You know that?”

“I am acquainted with many things,” he answered, smiling.  “The king brought up the subject in Paris; Monseigneur protested, but Charles had one of his obstinate fits and declared he would do as he pleased.  Monseigneur went to his mother, who talked to Charles with the result that the papers are still unsigned.”

“The Admiral will use his influence,” I said.

“The Admiral is a broken reed, monsieur; but if it were not so, your danger would be just as great.  Cordel has been in Paris:  he is furious at the check to his plans, and afraid lest they should be overthrown.  He can see but one way out of the difficulty.”

“And that?”

“Is obvious; you are the obstacle in his path, and he intends to remove it.”

“You mean that he will try to take my life?”

“If you were dead, he would obtain the estates without trouble, and the patent would follow.”

“Pshaw!” I exclaimed, “Etienne Cordel is too timorous a knave to play with naked steel, or even to fire a pistol from behind a hedge!”

“But not too timorous to employ others,” said L’Estang.  “There are scores of ruffians in Paris ready to earn a few crowns, and Cordel knows where to seek them.  That is what brought me here to-night.  Weigh well what I say, monsieur.  This rascal has marked you down, and sleeping or waking your life is in danger.”

I thanked the kind-hearted adventurer warmly for his service—­it was strange to think that but for a trifling accident he might have been earning Cordel’s pay—­and promised to observe the greatest caution.

“If I learn anything more,” he said, “I will send you a note by a trusty messenger, and that you may be sure it comes from me I will sign it D’Angely.”

“A good suggestion, monsieur.  Now, there is still time for an hour or two’s sleep before starting on your journey.”

“I must not be here at daylight:  if Cordel recognizes me, I can do you no more good.”

“The mornings are dark; I will call you in ample time, and Jacques will have your horse ready.  You can be miles away from Le Blanc before the villagers are stirring.”

The heavy supper and the warmth of the room after his cold, wet ride had made him drowsy, and on my promising to call him at the end of two hours he went to bed.

It was still dark when Jacques undid the fastenings of the gate, and I bade my guest farewell.