his reasons for making a fool of you," for in truth the landlord knew
every one, and everything that happened, for miles around.

The stranger had drawn his horse abreast of mine, and was riding on my
left. He was a man of perhaps thirty years, richly but quietly dressed,
wearing a sword, and carrying two pistols in his holsters. His dark
brown hair escaped over his forehead in short curls; his face was strong
and capable; he had good features, and a rounded chin. His eyes were
blue, deep, expressive, and beautiful as a woman's, and he had a most
engaging air of candour and sincerity. The horse he rode was a splendid
animal; my father had not its equal in his stables.

"This place of Etienne's," said he, addressing Jacques, "is it far?"

"Within a dozen miles, monsieur. You might easily have reached it last
night by pushing on."

"Had I been acquainted with the road! But it was late when I arrived at
the inn, and my horse had done a heavy's day work. You are a native of
the district, monsieur?" turning to me.

"If you make the district wide enough," I answered, with a laugh.

"You have escaped the ravages of war in these parts; you are fortunate.
One can ride here without loosening his sword."

"Yes," assented Jacques, "'tis a peaceful neighbourhood."

"A pity one cannot say the same of all France," replied the other with a
deep sigh, as if saddened at the mere thought of bloodshed; "and yet it