They nodded assent.

It was a great thing we meditated.  No less than to go to Paris—­ the unknown city so far beyond the hills—­and seek out M. de Pavannes, and warn him.  It would be a race between the Vidame and ourselves; a race for the life of Kit’s suitor.  Could we reach Paris first, or even within twenty-four hours of Bezers’ arrival, we should in all probability be in time, and be able to put Pavannes on his guard.  It had been the first thought of all of us, to take such men as we could get together and fall upon Bezers wherever we found him, making it our simple object to kill him.  But the lackeys M. le Vicomte had left with us, the times being peaceful and the neighbours friendly, were poor-spirited fellows.  Bezers’ handful, on the contrary, were reckless Swiss riders—­like master, like men.  We decided that it would be wiser simply to warn Pavannes, and then stand by him if necessary.

We might have despatched a messenger.  But our servants—­Gil excepted, and he was too old to bear the journey—­were ignorant of Paris.  Nor could any one of them be trusted with a mission so delicate.  We thought of Pavannes’ courier indeed.  But he was a Rochellois, and a stranger to the capital.  There was nothing for it but to go ourselves.

Yet we did not determine on this adventure with light hearts, I remember.  Paris loomed big and awesome in the eyes of all of us.  The glamour of the court rather frightened than allured us.  We felt that shrinking from contact with the world which a country life engenders, as well as that dread of seeming unlike other people which is peculiar to youth.  It was a great plunge, and a dangerous which we meditated.  And we trembled.  If we had known more—­especially of the future—­we should have trembled more.

But we were young, and with our fears mingled a delicious excitement.  We were going on an adventure of knight errantry in which we might win our spurs.  We were going to see the world and play men’s parts in it! to save a friend and make our mistress happy!

We gave our orders.  But we said nothing to Catherine or Madame Claude; merely bidding Gil tell them after our departure.  We arranged for the immediate despatch of a message to the Vicomte at Bayonne, and charged Gil until he should hear from him to keep the gates closed, and look well to the shoot of the kitchen midden.  Then, when all was ready, we went to our pallets, but it was with hearts throbbing with excitement and wakeful eyes.

“Anne!  Anne!” said Croisette, rising on his elbow and speaking to me some three hours later, “what do you think the Vidame meant this morning when he said that about the ten days?”

“What about the ten days?” I asked peevishly.  He had roused me just when I was at last falling asleep.

“About the world seeing that his was the true faith—­in ten days?”

“I am sure I do not know.  For goodness’ sake let us go to sleep,” I replied.  For I had no patience with Croisette, talking such nonsense, when we had our own business to think about.