“Then, sir, what do you intend to do with me?” D’Entragues asked, the air of fierceness with which he looked from me to the six men who remained barely disguising his apprehensions.

“That depends, M. Louis,” I replied, recurring to my usual tone of politeness, “on your answers to three questions.”

He shrugged his shoulders.  “Ask them,” he said, curtly.

“Do you deny that you have laid an ambush for the king on the road which passes the Rock of the Serpents?”

“Absolutely.”

“Or that you were yesterday at an inn near here in converse with three men?”

“Absolutely.”

“Do you deny that there is such an ambush laid?”

“Absolutely,” he repeated, with scorn.  “It is an old wives’ story.  I would stake my life on it.”

“Enough,” I answered, slowly.  “You have been your own judge.  The evening grows cold, and as you are my prisoner I must have a care of you.  Kindly put on this cloak and precede me, M. d’Entragues.  We return to Fontainebleau by the Rock of the Serpents.”

His eyes meeting mine, it seemed to me that for a second he held his breath and hesitated, while a cold shadow fell and dwelt upon his sallow face.  But the stern, gloomy countenances of La Trape and Boisrose, who had ridden up to his rein, and were awaiting his answer with their swords drawn, determined him.  With a loud laugh he took the cloak.  “It is new, I hope?” he said, lightly, as he threw it over his shoulders.

It was not, and I apologised, adding, however, that no one but the king had worn it.  On this he settled it about him; and having heard me strictly charge the two guards who followed with their arquebuses ready, to fire on him should he try to escape, he turned his horse’s head into the path and rode slowly along it, while we followed a few paces behind in double file.

The sun had set, and such light as remained fell cold and gray between the trees.  The crackling of a stick under a horse’s hoof, or the ring of a spur against a scabbard, were the only sounds which broke the stillness of the wood as we proceeded.  We had gone some little way when M. Louis halted, and, turning in his saddle, called to me.

“M. de Rosny,” he said,—­the light had so far failed that I could scarcely see his face,—­“I have a meeting with the Viscount de Caylus on Saturday about a little matter of a lady’s glove.  Should anything prevent my appearance—­”

“I will see that a proper explanation is given,” I answered, bowing.

“Or if M. d’Entragues will permit me,” eagerly exclaimed the Gascon, who was riding by my side, “M. de Boisrose of St. Palais, gently born, through before unknown to him, I will appear in his place and make the Viscount de Caylus swallow the glove.”

“You will?” said M. Louis, with politeness.  “You are a gentleman.  I am obliged to you.”