“His reverence may find his way back in the dark, as he best can; and it will be well if he does not need the light of my torch, before he is safe in his quarters:  light the devil, indeed! he took good care not to think of that, till he had served his own purpose with it!”

“What are you muttering about, boy?” asked De Valette.

“About my torch, and the devil, and other good Catholics, please your honor,” he answered, with a low bow.

“Have a care, sirrah!” said De Valette; “I allow no one, in my presence, to speak disrespectfully of the religion of my country.”

“It is a good cloak,” returned the boy; “and I would not abuse a garment, which has just been serviceable to me, however worthless it may be, in reality.”

“It may have been worn by scoundrels,” said De Valette; “but its intrinsic value is not diminished on that account.  Would you intimate that you have assumed it to answer some sinister design?”

“And, supposing I have,” he asked; “what then?”

“Why, then you are a hypocrite.”

“It is well for my lord’s lieutenant to speak of hypocrisy,” said the boy, laughing; “it is like Satan preaching sanctity; tell the good puritans of Boston, that the French Hugonot who worshipped in their conventicle with so much decorum, is a papist, and what, think you, would they say?”

“Who are you, that dares speak to me thus?” asked De Valette, angrily.

“That is a question, which I do not choose to answer; I care not to let strangers into my secret counsels.”

“You are impertinent, boy;” said De Valette, “yet your bearing shews that you have discernment enough to distinguish between right and wrong, and you must be aware that policy sometimes renders a disguise expedient, and harmless too, if neither honour or principle are compromised.”

“I like a disguise, occasionally, of all things,” said the boy, archly; “are you quick at detecting one?”

“Sometimes I am,” returned De Valette; “but—­now, by my troth,” he exclaimed, starting, and gazing intently on him, “is it possible, that you have again deceived me?”

“Nothing more likely,” answered the other, carelessly; “but, hush!  M. de la Tour, and the stranger with him, are observing us.  See! they come this way:  not a word more, if you have any wish to please me.”

“Stay but one moment,” said De Valette, grasping his arm; “I must know for what purpose you are thus attired.”

“Well, release me, and I will tell you the whole truth, though you might suppose it was merely some idle whim.  I wished to see Annette married, and as Mad. de la Tour thought it would be out of character for her page to appear in a Catholic assembly, I prevailed on a boy, whom father Gilbert had selected to officiate in the ceremony to transfer his dress and office to me:  this is all;—­and now are you satisfied?”

“Better than I expected to be, I assure you; but, for the love of the saints, be careful, or this whimsical fancy of your’s may lead to some unpleasant consequences.”