I had not gone ten paces, however, out of the shadow, before I chanced to look round, and discerned with an unpleasant eerie feeling three figures detach themselves from it, and advance in a row behind me, so as the better to cut off my retreat.  I was not to succeed in my enterprise too easily then.  That was clear.  Still I thought it better to act as if I had not seen my followers, and collecting myself, I walked as quickly as I could down to the steps.  The three were by that time close upon me—­ within striking distance almost.  I turned abruptly and confronted them.

“Who are you, and what do you want?” I said, eyeing them warily, my hand on my sword.

They did not answer, but separated more widely so as to form a half-circle:  and one of them whistled.  On the instant a knot of men started out of the line of houses, and came quickly across the strip of light towards us.

The position seemed serious.  If I could have run indeed—­but I glanced round, and found escape in that fashion impossible.  There were men crouching on the steps behind me, between me and the river.  I had fallen into a trap.  Indeed, there was nothing for it now but to do as Madame had bidden me, and play the man boldly.  I had the words still ringing in my ears.  I had enough of the excitement I had lately felt still bounding in my veins to give nerve and daring.  I folded my arms and drew myself up.

“Knaves!” I said, with as much quiet contempt as I could muster, “you mistake me.  You do not know whom you have to deal with.  Get me a boat, and let two of you row me across.  Hinder me, and your necks shall answer for it—­or your backs!”

A laugh and an oath of derision formed the only response, and before I could add more, the larger group arrived, and joined the three.

“Who is it, Pierre?” asked one of these in a matter-of-fact way, which showed I had not fallen amongst mere thieves.

The speaker seemed to be the leader of the band.  He had a feather in his bonnet, and I saw a steel corslet gleam under his cloak, when some one held up a lanthorn to examine me the better.  His trunk-hose were striped with black, white, and green—­the livery as I learned afterwards of Monsieur the King’s brother, the Duke of Anjou, afterwards Henry the Third; then a close friend of the Duke of Guise, and later his murderer.  The captain spoke with a foreign accent, and his complexion was dark to swarthiness.  His eyes sparkled and flashed like black beads.  It was easy to see that he was an Italian.

“A gallant young cock enough,” the soldier who had whistled answered; “and not quite of the breed we expected.”  He held his lanthorn towards me and pointed to the white badge on my sleeve.  “It strikes me we have caught a crow instead of a pigeon!”

“How comes this?” the Italian asked harshly, addressing me.  “Who are you?  And why do you wish to cross the river at this time of night, young sir?”