I was conscious too of being the object of many respectful glances; and had just bidden the men on the steps below me to be quick, when I discovered with alarm three figures moving across the open space towards us, and coming apparently from the same point from which Pallavicini and his men had emerged.

In a moment I foresaw danger.  “Now be quick there!” I cried again.  But scarcely had I spoken before I saw that it was impossible to get afloat before these others came up, and I prepared to stand my ground resolutely.

The first words, however, with which Pallavicini saluted the new-comers scattered my fears.  “Well, what the foul fiend do you want?” he exclaimed rudely; and he rapped out half-a-dozen CORPOS before they could answer him.  “What have you brought him here for, when I left him in the guard-house?  Imbeciles!”

“Captain Pallavicini,” interposed the midmost of the three, speaking with patience—­he was a man of about thirty, dressed with some richness, though his clothes were now disordered as though by a struggle—­“I have induced these good men to bring me down—­”

“Then,” cried the captain, brutally interrupting him, “you have lost your labour, Monsieur.”

“You do not know me,” replied the prisoner with sternness—­a prisoner he seemed to be.  “You do not understand that I am a friend of the Prince of Conde, and that—­”

He would have said more, but the Italian again cut him short.  “A fig for the Prince of Conde!” he cried; “I understand my duty.  You may as well take things easily.  You cannot cross, and you cannot go home, and you cannot have any explanation; except that it is the King’s will!  Explanation?” he grumbled, in a lower tone, “you will get it soon enough, I warrant!  Before you want it!”

“But there is a boat going to cross,” said the other, controlling his temper by an effort and speaking with dignity.  “You told me that by the King’s order no one could cross; and you arrested me because, having urgent need to visit St. Germain, I persisted.  Now what does this mean, Captain Pallavicini?  Others are crossing.  I ask what this means?”

“Whatever you please, M. de Pavannes,” the Italian retorted contemptuously.  “Explain it for yourself!”

I started as the name struck my ear, and at once cried out in surprise, “M. de Pavannes!” Had I heard aright?

Apparently I had, for the prisoner turned to me with a bow.  “Yes, sir,” he said with dignity, “I am M. de Pavannes.  I have not the honour of knowing you, but you seem to be a gentleman.”  He cast a withering glance at the captain as he said this.  “Perhaps you will explain to me why this violence has been done to me.  If you can, I shall consider it a favour; if not, pardon me.”

I did not answer him at once, for a good reason—­that every faculty I had was bent on a close scrutiny of the man himself.  He was fair, and of a ruddy complexion.  His beard was cut in the short pointed fashion of the court; and in these respects he bore a kind of likeness, a curious likeness, to Louis de Pavannes.  But his figure was shorter and stouter.  He was less martial in bearing, with more of the air of a scholar than a soldier.  “You are related to M. Louis de Pavannes?” I said, my heart beginning to beat with an odd excitement.  I think I foresaw already what was coming.