"At last?" I echoed.
"Whom have you there?" he inquired abruptly.
"Only Michelot."
"Bid him fall behind a little."
When Michelot had complied with this request, "You see, M. de Luynes," quoth the officer, "that you have arrived too late."
There was a certain coldness in his tone that made me seek by my reply to sound him.
"Indeed, I trust not, my friend. With your assistance I hope to get M. de Canaples from the clutches of St. Auban."
He shook his head.
"It is impossible that I should help you," he replied with increasing coldness. "Already once for your sake have I broken faith to those who pay me, by setting you in a position to forestall St. Auban and get M. de Canaples away before his arrival. Unfortunately, you have dallied on the road, M. de Luynes, and Canaples is already a prisoner--a doomed one, I fear."
"Is that your last word, Montrésor?" I inquired sadly.
"I am sorry," he answered in softened tones, "but you must see that I cannot do otherwise. I warned you; more you cannot expect of me."
I sighed, and stood musing for an instant. Then--"You are right, Montrésor. Nevertheless, I am still grateful to you for the warning you gave me in Paris. God pity and help Canaples! Adieu, Montrésor. I do not think that you will see me again."
He took my hand, but as he did so he pushed me back into the shadow from which I had stepped to proffer it him.
"Peste!" he ejaculated. "The moon was full upon your face, and did St. Auban chance to look out, he must have seen you."
I followed the indication of his thumb, and noted the lighted window to which he pointed. A moment later he was gone, and as I joined Michelot, I chuckled softly to myself.
For two hours and more I sat in the shrubbery, conversing in whispers with Michelot, and watching the lights in the château die out one by one, until St. Auban's window, which opened on to the terrace balcony, was the only one that was not wrapt in darkness.
I waited a little while longer, then rising I cautiously made a tour of inspection. Peace reigned everywhere, and the only sign of life was the sentry, who with musket on shoulder paced in front of the main entrance, a silent testimony of St. Auban's mistrust of the Blaisois and of his fears of a possible surprise.
Satisfied that everyone slept I retraced my steps to the shrubbery where Michelot awaited me, watching the square of light, and after exchanging word with him, I again stepped forth.