I hastily muttered my thanks, and she as hastily took something from a drawer, and tore it into strips.  Before I knew what she was doing she was on her knees by me, fastening a white band of linen round my left sleeve.  Then she took my cap, and with the same precipitation fixed a fragment of the stuff in it, in the form of a rough cross.

“There,” she said.  “Now, listen, M. de Caylus.  There is more afoot to-night than you know of.  Those badges will help you across to St. Germain, but the moment you land tear them off:  Tear them off, remember.  They will help you no longer.  You will come back by the same boat, and will not need them.  If you are seen to wear them as you return, they will command no respect, but on the contrary will bring you—­and perhaps me into trouble.”

“I understand,” I said, “but—­”

“You must ask no questions,” she retorted, waving one snowy finger before my eyes.  “My knight-errant must have faith in me, as I have in him; or he would not be here at this time of night, and alone with me.  But remember this also.  When you meet Pavannes do not say you come from me.  Keep that in your mind; I will explain the reason afterwards.  Say merely that his wife is found, and is wild with anxiety about him.  If you say anything as to his danger he may refuse to come.  Men are obstinate.”

I nodded a smiling assent, thinking I understood.  At the same time I permitted myself in my own mind a little discretion.  Pavannes was not a fool, and the name of the Vidame—­but, however, I should see.  I had more to say to him than she knew of.  Meanwhile she explained very carefully the three turnings I had to take to reach the river, and the wharf where boats most commonly lay, and the name of the house in which I should find M. de Pavannes.

“He is at the Hotel de Bailli,” she said.  “And there, I think that is all.”

“No, not all,” I said hardily.  “There is one thing I have not got.  And that is a sword!”

She followed the direction of my eyes, started, and laughed—­a little oddly.  But she fetched the weapon.  “Take it, and do not,” she urged, “do not lose time.  Do not mention me to Pavannes.  Do not let the white badges be seen as you return.  That is really all.  And now good luck!” She gave me her hand to kiss.  “Good luck, my knight-errant, good luck—­and come back to me soon!”

She smiled divinely, as it seemed to me, as she said these last words, and the same smile followed me down stairs:  for she leaned over the stair-head with one of the lamps in her hand, and directed me how to draw the bolts.  I took one backward glance as I did so at the fair stooping figure above me, the shining eyes, and tiny outstretched hand, and then darting into the gloom I hurried on my way.

I was in a strange mood.  A few minutes before I had been at Pavannes’ door, at the end of our journey; on the verge of success.  I had been within an ace, as I supposed at least, of executing my errand.  I had held the cup of success in my hand.  And it had slipped.  Now the conflict had to be fought over again; the danger to be faced.  It would have been no more than natural if I had felt the disappointment keenly:  if I had almost despaired.