I was no easier in my mind though I
saw him gone.
Soon on his steps came a lackey to order M. de St. Quentin's horses and
two musketeers to mount and ride with him. On reaching the door with the
nags, I discovered I was not to be of the party; our second steed must
carry gear of mademoiselle's and her handwoman, a hard-faced peasant,
silent as a stone. Though the men quizzed her, asking if she were glad
to get to her mistress again, whether she had known all this time the
lady's whereabouts, she answered no single word, but busied herself
seeing the horse loaded to her notion. Presently, in the guidance of
Pierre, Monsieur appeared.
"You stay, Felix, and go to the Bastille for your master. Then you will
wait at the St. Denis gate for Vigo, with horses."
"Is all right, Monsieur?" I had to ask, as I held his stirrup. "Is all
right? Lucas--"
His face had been a little clouded as he came down the stairs, and now
it darkened more, but he answered:
"Quite right, Achates. M. de Mayenne stands to his word. Lucas availed
nothing."
He stood a moment frowning, then his countenance cleared up.
"My faith! I have enough to gladden me without fretting that Lucas is
alive. Fare you well, Felix. You are like to reach St. Denis as soon as
I. My son's horse will not lag."
He sprang to the saddle with a smiling salute to his guardians, and the
little train clattered off.
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