Italian favourites there is no room in France for an honest Frenchman.
Listen, some one rides behind us! 'Tis the early riser from the inn
perhaps. Faith, he is a keen judge of horseflesh."

"And he has a firm seat," I remarked, glancing round. "He will overtake
us in a few minutes. Shall we quicken our pace?"

"No, monsieur. If he is a friend there is no need; should he be an enemy
'twill but arouse suspicion."

"Good-day, messieurs," cried a pleasant voice, "I trust we are well
met. I am a stranger in the district, and wish to discover the
whereabouts of one Etienne Cordel. He is an advocate from Paris, but he
owns a small estate in the neighbourhood."

"A tall man," said Jacques, "with a nose like a hawk's beak, and eyes
that look in opposite directions?"

"Faith, my friend," laughed the stranger jovially, "you have his picture
to a nicety. That is Etienne Cordel. Are you acquainted with him?"

"I have met him," replied Jacques carelessly. "We shall pass within a
mile or two of his place, if you care to travel in our company."

"Nothing would please me more," declared the cavalier. "This is a stroke
of good fortune on which I had not counted. I spent the night at the inn
yonder, but the dolt of a landlord might have been one of the staves of
his own barrels: he could not answer me a question!"

"Ha! my dashing friend," I thought to myself, "old Pierre must have had