“Well said, Monsieur, where?” Perrot rejoined in a tone of triumph.  “There lies the point.  In the stables, where will be sleeping men, and a snorer on every truss?  No, but in a fairway between two stables where the water at its entrance runs clear in a stone channel; a channel deepened in one place that they may draw for the chambers above with a rope and a bucket.  The rooms above are the best in the house, four in one row, opening all on the gallery; which was uncovered, in the common fashion until Queen-Mother Jezebel, passing that way to Nantes, two years back, found the chambers draughty; and that end of the gallery was closed in against her return.  Now, Monsieur, he and his Madame will lie there; and he will feel safe, for there is but one way to those four rooms—­through the door which shuts off the covered gallery from the open part.  But—­” he glanced up an instant and La Tribe caught the smouldering fire in his eyes—­“we shall not go in by the door.”

“The bucket rises through a trap?”

“In the gallery?  To be sure, monsieur.  In the corner beyond the fourth door.  There shall he fall into the pit which he dug for others, and the evil that he planned rebound on his own head!”

La Tribe was silent.

“What think you of it?” Tignonville asked.

“That it is cleverly planned,” the minister answered.

“No more than that?”

“No more until I have eaten.”

“Get him something!” Tignonville replied in a surly tone.  “And we may as well eat, ourselves.  Lead the horses into the wood.  And do you, Perrot, call Tuez-les-Moines, who is forward.  Two hours’ riding should bring us to La Fleche.  We need not leave here, therefore, until the sun is low.  To dinner!  To dinner!”

Probably he did not feel the indifference he affected, for his face as he ate grew darker, and from time to time he shot a glance, barbed with suspicion, at the minister.  La Tribe on his side remained silent, although the men ate apart.  He was in doubt, indeed, as to his own feelings.  His instinct and his reason were at odds.  Through all, however, a single purpose, the rescue of Angers, held good, and gradually other things fell into their places.  When the meal was at an end, and Tignonville challenged him, he was ready.

“Your enthusiasm seems to have waned,” the younger man said with a sneer, “since we met, monsieur!  May I ask now if you find any fault with the plan?”

“With the plan, none.”

“If it was Providence brought us together, was it not Providence furnished me with Perrot who knows La Fleche?  If it was Providence brought the danger of the faithful in Angers to your knowledge, was it not Providence set us on the road—­without whom you had been powerless?”

“I believe it!”

“Then, in His name, what is the matter?” Tignonville rejoined with a passion of which the other’s manner seemed an inadequate cause.  “What will you!  What is it?”