“To whom?”

“To whom?  To those who sent me, sirrah!”

I thundered.  “You do not seem to be much in the Duke’s confidence, captain,” I went on; “now take a word of advice from me!  There is nothing:  so easily cast off as an over-officious servant!  He goes too far—­and he goes like an old glove!  An old glove,” I repeated grimly, sneering in his face, “which saves the hand and suffers itself.  Beware of too much zeal, Captain Pallavicini!  It is a dangerous thing!”

He turned pale with anger at being thus treated by a beardless boy.  But he faltered all the same.  What I said was unpleasant, but the bravo knew it was true.

I saw the impression I had made, and I turned to the soldiers standing round.

“Bring here, my friends,” I said, “M. de Pavannes’ sword!”

One ran up to the guard house and brought it at once.  They were townsfolk, burgher guards or such like, and for some reason betrayed so evident a respect for me, that I soberly believe they would have turned on their temporary leader at my bidding.  Pavannes took his sword, and placed it under his arm.  We both bowed ceremoniously to Pallavicini, who scowled in response; and slowly, for I was afraid to show any signs of haste, we walked across the moonlit space to the bottom of the street by which I had come.  There the gloom swallowed us up at once.  Pavannes touched my sleeve and stopped in the darkness.

“I beg to be allowed to thank you for your aid,” he said with emotion, turning and facing me.  “Whom have I the honour of addressing?”

“M.  Anne de Caylus, a friend of your cousin,” I replied.

“Indeed?” he said “well, I thank you most heartily,” and we embraced with warmth.

“But I could have done little,” I answered modestly, “on your behalf, if it had not been for this ring.”

“And the virtue of the ring lies in—­”

“In—­I am sure I cannot say in what!” I confessed.  And then, in the sympathy which the scene had naturally created between us, I forgot one portion of my lady’s commands and I added impulsively, “All I know is that Madame d’O gave it me; and that it has done all, and more than all she said it would.”

“Who gave it to you?” he asked, grasping my arm so tightly as to hurt me.

“Madame d’O,” I repeated.  It was too late to draw back now.

“That woman!” he ejaculated in a strange low whisper.  “Is it possible?  That woman gave it you?”

I wandered what on earth he meant, surprise, scorn and dislike were so blended in his tone.  It even seemed to me that he drew off from me somewhat.  “Yes, M. de Pavannes,” I replied, offended and indignant, “It is so far possible that it is the truth; and more, I think you would not so speak of this lady if you knew all; and that it was through her your wife was to-day freed from those who were detaining her, and taken safely home!”