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when a man is dying. I am René de Lesperon, of Lesperon in Gascony," he pursued. "Will you send word to my sister—afterwards?"
    I bowed my head without speaking.
    "She is the only relative I have, monsieur. But"—and his tone grew wistful—"there is one other to whom I would have you bear a message." He raised his hand by a painful effort to the level of his breast. Strength failed him, and he sank back. "I cannot, monsieur," he said in a tone of pathetic apology. "See; there is a chain about my neck with a locket. Take it from me. Take it now, monsieur. There are some papers also, monsieur. Take all. I want to see them safely in your keeping."
    I did his bidding, and from the breast of his doublet I drew some loose letters and a locket which held the miniature of a woman's face.
    "I want you to deliver all to her, monsieur."
    "It shall be done," I answered, deeply moved.
    "Hold it—hold it up," he begged, his voice weakening. "Let me behold the face."
    Long his eyes rested on the likeness I held before him. At last, as one in a dream—
    "Well-beloved," he sighed. "Bien aimée!" And down his grey, haggard cheeks the tears came slowly. "Forgive this weakness, monsieur," he whispered brokenly. "We were to have been wed in a month had I lived." He ended with a sob, and when next he spoke it was more labouredly, as though that sob hadrobbed him of the half of what vitality remained. "Tell her, monsieur, that my—dying thoughts—were of her. Tell—tell her—I—"
    "Her name?" I cried, fearing he would sink before I learned it. "Tell me her name."
    He looked at me with eyes that were growing glassy and vacant. Then he seemed to brace himself and to rally for a second.
    "Her name?" he mused, in a far-off manner. "She is—Ma-de-moiselle de—"
    His head rolled on the suddenly relaxed neck. He collapsed into Rodenard's arms.
    "Is he dead?" I asked.
    Rodenard nodded in silence.

CHAPTER IV
    A MAID IN THE MOONLIGHT
    I DO not know whether it was the influence of that thing lying in a corner of the barn under the cloak that Rodenard had flung over it, or whether other influences of destiny were at work to impel me to rise at the end of a half-hour and announce my determination to set out on horseback and find myself quarters more congenial.
    "Tomorrow," I instructed Ganymède, as I stood ready to mount, "you will retrace your steps with the others, and, finding the road to Lavédan, you will follow me to the chateau."
    "But you cannot hope to reach it tonight, monseigneur, through a country that is unknown to you," he protested.
    "I do not hope to reach it tonight. I will ride south until I come upon some hamlet that will afford me shelter and, in the morning, direction."
    I left him with that, and set out at a brisk trot. Night had now fallen, but the sky was clear, and a crescent moon came opportunely if feebly to dispel the gloom.
    I quitted the field, and went back until I gained a crossroad, where, turning to the right, I set my face to the Pyrenees, and rode briskly amain. That I had chosen wisely was proved when some twenty minutes later I clattered into the hamlet of Mirepoix, and drew up before an inn flaunting the sign of a peacock—asif in irony of its humbleness, for it was no better than a wayside tavern. Neither stable-boy nor ostler was there, and the unclean, overgrown urchin to whom I entrusted my horse could not say whether, indeed, Père Abdon, the landlord, would be able to find me a room to sleep in. I thirsted, however; and so I determined to alight, if it were only to drink a can of wine and obtain information of my whereabouts.
    As I was entering the hostelry there was a clatter of hoofs in the street, and four dragoons headed by a sergeant rode up and halted at the door of the Paon. They seemed to have ridden hard and some distance, for their horses were jaded almost to the last point of endurance.
    Within, I called the host, and having obtained a flagon of the best vintage—Heaven fortify those that