Always hungry, always in filth and rags, scarred and disfigured by disease, their numbers decimated many times over by an ever-present plague, what could they know of the sanctity of life? Death walked and talked with them continually; a familiar guest, eating and drinking by their side like a trusty comrade--feared by none, welcomed by many. But for François we should never have left these dens alive.
With all our care and trouble we could obtain no information. My cousin had vanished so completely that I gradually became convinced of his death, and an accidental meeting with De Retz confirmed me in this belief.
Coming one day from the neighbourhood of Notre Dame, I met the Abbé face to face. He stopped involuntarily and his face became white.
"De Lalande?" he gasped. "De Lalande? Is it possible?"
"Ah," he exclaimed with a sigh of relief, "Henri's cousin! I had forgotten you, and it is a shock to one's nerves to meet a dead man in the flesh."
"_Ma foi!_ What a question! Why do you ask?"
"Because I imagined the report had been spread about to deceive Condé."
"No," he replied, showing no offence at my remark, "I would it were so, but M. Beauchamp's sword bit deeply. Pillot should have informed you, but he has had much to do. He has taken his master's body home for burial. I feel his loss greatly. Your cousin was an admirable man, and I shall never find his equal. But what of yourself? Have you taken service with Condé?"
"No, monsieur, I still fight for the Throne."
"And for Albert de Lalande! Well, well, as long as you steer clear of me I wish you no harm."
"Monsieur is pleased to be gracious," I returned with a mocking bow. "I am indeed grateful."
The little rogue's eyes twinkled brightly, and he went away laughing.
So Henri was really dead and laid to rest in the family vault! I could no longer question the truth of the rumour after seeing the Abbé's face when he met me. It was certain that he, at least, believed my cousin was dead and buried. Even Raoul could not shake me on this point, though he rather scoffed at the story.
"It is a trick to deceive Condé," he said. "If Henri is dead, where is Pillot?"
"Chut! The tale is a pack of lies. The Abbé is keeping your cousin in hiding till Condé has lost his power. Have you heard that he is going to accuse the prince of high treason?"