I heard him in silence, and when he had done I thanked him for his information. So! This was the story that the crafty St. Auban had spread abroad to lull suspicion touching the real nature of their presence until their horses should be fit to undertake the return journey to Paris, or until he should have secured the person of M. de Canaples.
Towards eleven o'clock, as the lights in the hostelry opposite were burning low, I descended, and made my way out into the now deserted street. The troopers had apparently seen fit--or else been ordered--to seek their beds, for the place had grown silent, and a servant was in the act of making fast the door for the night. The porte-cochère was half closed, and a man carrying a lantern was making fast the bolt, whistling aimlessly to himself. Through the half of the door that was yet open, I beheld a window from which the light fell upon a distant corner of the courtyard.
I drew near the fellow with the lantern, in whom I recognised René, the hostler, and as I approached he flashed the light upon my face; then with a gasp--"M. de Luynes," he exclaimed, remembering me from the time when I had lodged at the Lys de France, three months ago.
"Sh!" I whispered, pressing a louis d'or into his hand. "Whose window is that, René?" And I pointed towards the light.
"That," he replied, "is the room of the lieutenant and the gentleman in the mask."
"I must take a look at them, René, and whilst I am looking I shall search my pocket for another louis. Now let me in."
"I dare not, Monsieur. Maître Bernard may call me, and if the doors are not closed--"
"Dame!" I broke in. "I shall stay but a moment."
"But--"
"And you will have easily earned a louis d'or. If Bernard calls you--peste, tell him that you have let fall something, and that you are seeking it. There, let me pass."
I got past him at last, and made my way swiftly towards the other end of the quadrangle.
As I approached, the sound of voices smote my ear, for the lighted window stood open. I stopped within half a dozen paces of it, and climbed on to the step of a coach that stood there. Thence I could look straight into the room, whilst the darkness hid me from the eyes of those I watched.
Three men there were; Montrésor, the sergeant of his troop, and a tall man dressed in black, and wearing a black silk mask. This I concluded to be St. Auban, despite the profusion of fair locks that fell upon his shoulders, concealing--I rightly guessed--his natural hair, which was as black as my own. It was a cunning addition to his disguise, and one well calculated to lead people on to the wrong scent hereafter.