her from the snares that wait for innocence. Oh, it's a secret, it's a marvellous secret, which I shall confide to monsieur. The neighbor opposite the silk merchant told me how to make it; it is a little skin of vellum, on which some words are written; then one signs it, and it becomes a talisman to prevent all misfortunes. Queen Catherine de Médicis had a similar one which she wore always; the talisman which I have given to Mademoiselle Blanche, very far from attracting evil spirits, should make them fly from a place and prevent the effect of all sorceries which anyone could employ to triumph over her virtue. Oh, the precious talisman, monsieur! Alas! if I had had one eight years ago!—But you don't sup, monsieur; haven't you any appetite?"

Touquet rose abruptly and went to look at a wooden timepiece which stood at the end of the room.

"Nine o'clock," said the barber impatiently; "nine o'clock, and he has not come."

"Why, are you waiting for someone, monsieur?" said the old servant in surprise.

"Yes; I'm waiting for a friend. Put another drinking-cup on the table; he will sup with me."

"I very much doubt whether he will come," said Marguerite, while executing her master's orders; "it's late and the weather is frightful; one must be very bold to risk himself in the streets at this hour."

At this moment somebody knocked violently at the door of the passageway, and the barber, smiling to himself, cried,—

"It is he!"

CHAPTER II

The Great Nobleman and the Barber

ON hearing the knock old Marguerite started affrightedly and looked at her master, as she faltered,—

"Must we open the door at this time of night, monsieur?"

"Of course, haven't I told you already that I was waiting for a friend?" replied the barber, putting some more wood on the fire, "go to the door at once."

The old servant was very fearful; she stood and hesitated; but a single look from her master decided her; she took a lamp and directed her steps towards the corridor which opened into the passageway of the house. Marguerite was sixty-eight years old; work and the weight of years had long since bent her body and deprived her limbs of their natural agility; she could only walk slowly, and the high heels of her large slippers made a uniform flapping noise which the poor old hand-maid could not prevent and of which she was, indeed, unconscious.

The good woman had shuffled as far as the middle of the passageway, when another knock, louder than the first one, shook all the windows of the house.

"Ah, mon Dieu!" said Marguerite; "he's in a great hurry. Which of my master's friends would allow himself to knock in that manner? There are some panes broken, I'm sure. Can it be Chaudoreille? Oh, no; he only gives a very soft little knock. Turlupin? Of course not; I should hear him sing in the street. Besides, he's not my master's friend. Ah, I'm very curious to know who it can be."

Despite her curiosity Marguerite did not advance more quickly. However, she arrived at the door, and, having mentally recommended herself to her dear patron saint, she decided to open it.

A man wrapped in a large cloak which he held against his face, his head covered with a hat ornamented on the edge with white feathers, and drawn well down over his eyes, so that no one could see them, appeared at the end of the passageway, and asked in a loud voice if this was Barber Touquet's house.

"Yes, monsieur," said Marguerite, trying, but in vain, to discover the features of the person before her. "Yes, this is it; and it's you, no doubt, for whom my master's waiting."

"In that case conduct me to him," said the stranger.

Marguerite closed the door and bade the unknown follow her. While guiding him along the passageway and the long corridor which they had to traverse, she turned often and held her lamp to the stranger, under the pretence of lighting him, but in fact to try to see something by which she could recognize the person whom she had introduced into the house. Her efforts were in vain. The stranger walked with his head down, holding his cloak against his face. Marguerite was reduced to examining his boots, which were white, with turned-over mushroom-shaped tops, and garnished with spurs. This seemed to indicate a refined dress; but many men then wore similar ones, and this part of his dress could not help Marguerite in her conjectures. They reached the lower room, and the stranger entered with a light step, while the servant said to her master,—

"Here's the person who knocked. I do not know if it is the friend you were waiting for; I was not able to see him."

The barber did not allow Marguerite time to finish her phrase. He ran toward the stranger and made him come to the fire, saying to him,—

"Thou hast arrived at last, then. I feared that the night, that the bad weather—But place thyself here; we will sup together."

"Good," said the servant to herself; "in order for him to sup it will be necessary for him to remove his mantle, and I shall at last be able to see his face. I don't know why, but I have the greatest curiosity to know this man. If it is one of my master's friends, it must be that he has come here very rarely. I did not recognize his voice; his height is ordinary,—rather tall than short; he should be young. Yes, he's not a scholar; however, I bet he's a pretty fellow; by his walk I judge him to be a military man. We shall see if I'm mistaken."

The old maid did not take her eyes from the stranger, who had thrown himself on a chair, and made no sign that he wished to relieve himself of his cloak and hat, both of which were drenched with rain.

"If monsieur desires it," said Marguerite, approaching the stranger's chair, "I will relieve him of his cloak, which is all wet; and I can dry it while he is supping."

"It is unnecessary," said the barber, putting himself precipitately between the old woman and the stranger, who had not stirred; "we have no need of your services. Leave us, and go to rest; I will shut the street door myself when my friend leaves."

Marguerite seemed petrified on receiving this order. She looked at her master, and was about to allow herself to indulge in some observations; but the barber fixed his eyes upon her, and Master Touquet's eyes had at times an expression which compelled obedience.

"Leave us," said he again to his servant; "and above all, do not come down again."

Marguerite was silent. She took her lamp, bowed to her master and turned to leave the room, throwing a last glance on the man of the mantle, who remained motionless before the fire and whose features she could not see. She was obliged to go to bed without being able to base her conjectures on facts, without knowing if she had rightly divined the age, the condition, the face of the unknown. What a punishment for the old maid! But her master pointed with his finger to the door of the room, and Marguerite went at once.

As soon as the old servant had departed, and when the sound of her steps was no longer heard, the stranger burst into a shout of laughter and threw his hat and his cloak far from him. Then one perceived a man of thirty-six years or thereabouts; his features were fine, noble and spirituel. His brown mustache was lightly outlined above his mouth, which in smiling disclosed very beautiful teeth. His expressive eyes, in turn tender, proud and passionate, denoted one who was in the habit of expressing all his sentiments; but the disgust, the weariness, which were depicted also on the pale and worn features of the stranger seemed to indicate that, having once indulged his passion, it was only with an effort that he could bring himself to experience it again.

His costume was rich and tasteful; the color of his doublet was a light blue; silver and