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Let us get ready while he is resting." L'Estang's Courier "The stranger rides a fine beast," remarked Jacques, as we entered the stables; "it has stood the long journey well. The grooming and feed of oats have made it as fresh as ever." "Did he tell you his name?" I asked. "No; he is a surly rascal. If he were to be in our company long, I should have to teach him good manners.
L'Estang has proved himself your friend; he can have no reason for deceiving you." "I will answer for L'Estang's loyalty." "Then send Jeanne away; or, rather, take her yourself." "That is impossible! If there is anything in L'Estang's story, it points to a plot against our chief.
Lean on me; you are weaker than I thought." He supported me across the room, down the stairway, and so to the door of the house, in front of which a carriage was drawn up. The coachman wore Anjou's livery a device of L'Estang's, since the equipage did not belong to Monseigneur and the crowd stood around cheering wildly.
L'Estang may have something of importance to tell me." "He could have written it," said Jacques. "I don't like this journey. These assassins are on the watch. One messenger killed, and the next shot at we can be sure they won't let you pass free." "There are three of us," I replied lightly "you and I and L'Estang's courier, and he seems well able to take care of himself.
Had I not better waken him? We shall not reach Poictiers to-night." "Yes; tell him we are ready to start. I have no wish to pass the night at some village inn." L'Estang's messenger was indeed a surly fellow. He came into the courtyard rubbing his eyes and grumbling at being disturbed.
"He knows better how to handle the goose-quill," I laughed, leaving Jacques to fasten the gate, and returning to my room. Who Killed the Courier? L'Estang's information caused me a certain amount of anxiety, and during the next few weeks I was rarely abroad except for a ride in the broad daylight.
Felix was very bright and joyous that night, and so merry in himself that he failed to notice my thoughtfulness. I said nothing of L'Estang's communication until we were alone in our room, when I told him the story. I had not to ask for his opinion. Almost before I had finished, he exclaimed with decision, "Whatever this does or does not mean, Jeanne must go to Rochelle.
Wrap yourselves up closely, and attract as little attention as possible. Do not fail to come, as I have important news. "Are you sure this is not a second invitation from the lawyer?" my comrade asked. "It appears to be L'Estang's handwriting." "So did the other note." "True, but Etienne Cordel would not bait a trap for you. He bears you no grudge, and besides you would only be in his way!"
His assassins are still seeking for you." "Well," said Roger, "as it happens, they will seek in vain, and when they do find you, they may be sorry for the discovery." Now that my decision was made, I felt anxious to get away, hoping that new scenes and new faces might blunt the misery which L'Estang's letter had caused me.
"That is odd," I thought, looking at the smaller packet, which bore no address, and opening it I read in Renaud L'Estang's handwriting "Monsieur, I fear something has gone wrong. Did you receive my letter? My messenger has not returned, and I can hear no word of him. I am too busily engaged to leave Monseigneur, and I do not care to send to you openly.
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