And a day or two later Rochelle was ringing with his name.  Men lauded his courage and prowess, speaking of him almost as if he were our beloved leader himself.

Heading a body of troops in the early morning, he had sallied forth, destroyed a big gun, and driven the besiegers pell-mell from the trenches.  Anjou had scowled angrily, but King Charles was reported to have declared it a most brilliant feat of arms.

It was a proud day for all of us, but our joy was shortly changed to mourning.  Coligny, with most of his attendants, had left Rochelle for Saintes; the rest of us, with two hundred troopers, were to depart the next day.  I had spent the evening at home, and accompanied by Felix had returned to the hotel.

“Is that you, Le Blanc?” cried one of my comrades.  “What means this treasonable correspondence with the enemy?” and he handed me a sealed packet.

“For me?” I exclaimed, taking it in surprise.  “Where does it come from?”

“Ah,” said he, laughing merrily, “that is a nice question to ask!  One of Monseigneur’s rascals brought it under a flag of truce to the officer at the gate, and he sent it here.  I should have put you under arrest, and forwarded the correspondence to the Admiral.”

I looked at the letter curiously, and with a vague feeling of uneasiness.  It bore my name, but the handwriting was unfamiliar.  “One of Anjou’s troopers!” I muttered.

I walked slowly away, still accompanied by Felix and carrying the packet in my hand.  I had no idea of the sender, nor of the contents, yet strangely enough, when we reached our room, my fingers trembled so much that I could hardly break the seal.

“What is it?” asked Felix anxiously.  “What do you fear?”

“Nothing,” I replied with a forced laugh; “I am foolish; that is all.”

Yes, there was my name in crabbed letters; I glanced from it to the foot of the page:  the letter was signed, “Renaud L’Estang.”

“L’Estang!” I muttered, “L’Estang!  Why, that is the name of my adventurer.  Of course he is with Anjou; but why should he write to me?  Perhaps ’tis to thank me again, or to tell me something about Cordel!  Ah, yes, that would be it.  He must have gathered some fresh information concerning the rascally lawyer!”

I gave a deep sigh of relief, yet studiously avoided what he had written.  But this was childish folly!  Courage!  What had I to fear?  Cordel had already done his worst.  We had lost our estates—­it mattered little who gained them.

“Monsieur, you once did me a priceless service.  I have never forgotten—­shall never forget——­“—­“Just as I thought,” I remarked aloud, “the poor fellow still feels under an obligation to me!”—­“Believe me, monsieur, it is with poignant grief I write this brief note.”—­“Ah,” I continued, “he has discovered some fresh villainy.  Well, well, it is of little consequence.”—­“I have been with Monseigneur at St. Jean d’Angely——­”