When I came down early next morning, the first person I met was Blaise Bure.  He looked rather fiercer and more shabby by daylight than candlelight.  But he saluted me respectfully; and this, since it was clear that he did not respect many people, inclined me to regard him with favour.  It is always so, the more savage the dog, the more highly we prize its attentions.  I asked him who the Huguenot noble was who had supped with us.  For a Huguenot we knew he must be.

“The Baron de Rosny,” he answered; adding with a sneer, “He is a careful man!  If they were all like him, with eyes on both sides of his head and a dag by his candle—­well, my lord, there would be one more king in France—­or one less!  But they are a blind lot:  as blind as bats.”  He muttered something farther in which I caught the word “to-night.”  But I did not hear it all; or understand any of it.

“Your lordships are going to Paris?” he resumed in a different tone.  When I said that we were, he looked at me in a shamefaced way, half timid, half arrogant.  “I have a small favour to ask of you then,” he said.  “I am going to Paris myself.  I am not afraid of odds, as you have seen.  But the roads will be in a queer state if there be anything on foot in the city, and—­well, I would rather ride with you gentlemen than alone.”

“You are welcome to join us,” I said.  “But we start in half-an-hour.  Do you know Paris well?”

“As well as my sword-hilt,” he replied briskly, relieved I thought by my acquiescence, “And I have known that from my breeching.  If you want a game at paume, or a pretty girl to kiss, I can put you in the way for the one or the other.”

The half rustic shrinking from the great city which I felt, suggested to me that our swashbuckling friend might help us if he would.  “Do you know M. de Pavannes?” I asked impulsively, “Where he lives in Paris, I mean?”

“M.  Louis de Pavannes?” quoth he.

“Yes.”

“I know—­” he replied slowly, rubbing his chin and looking at the ground in thought—­“where he had his lodgings in town a while ago, before—­Ah!  I do know!  I remember,” he added, slapping his thigh, “when I was in Paris a fortnight ago I was told that his steward had taken lodgings for him in the Rue St. Antoine.”

“Good!” I answered overjoyed.  “Then we want to dismount there, if you can guide us straight to the house.”

“I can,” he replied simply.  “And you will not be the worse for my company.  Paris is a queer place when there is trouble to the fore, but your lordships have got the right man to pilot you through it.”