Here André raised his hand for peace.

“If you do that,” he said quietly, “you will only be playing into their nets. It will mean the destruction of us all.”

The Count flung himself into a chair.

“There’s one last fight in me yet, André,” he growled in his heavy voice. “I’ll summon a thousand archers from the countryside. I’ll find the castle where they have him prisoner. We’ll storm it and burn it to the ground.”

But André, who ever was on the side of wisdom, saw the folly of his intentions.

“If you do,” he warned, “it will only be a signal for an attack. The armies of France will sweep us from our homes.”

He took two or three paces to and fro in the room and returned to me. There was a smile of sadness on his face as he spoke.

“The Black Prince of England is our only hope,” he said.

“He is ravaging the western coast of France,” I told him. “It is his presence there that holds the King in check.”

He opened his mouth to answer but the long whine of one of the dogs out of doors interrupted him. We kept silent until the sound died away. Then he took up a tinder and went to the hearth.

“I shall make a fire,” he said. “The chill of the air has pierced me to the bone.”

I looked at his wounded arm.

“How did you get that, André?” I asked.

He laughed.

“We were attacked by knaves as we came along the road.”

The whine of the dog began again. Then like a chorus there arose a barking and yelping as though the whole pack of them had gone suddenly mad.

“There is someone in the yard,” muttered the old Count without raising his head. “I thought I heard the crunching of the gravel on the walk.”

With a kind of instinct I turned towards the window. I could not see clearly what it was, but there flashed across the pane what seemed to be the image of a man’s face. By the suddenness with which he moved away, it struck me that he must have been loitering there, peering in. My heart rose in my throat for I thought of the enemies who were lurking about the house.

I was on the verge of raising my hand to point and call out, when amid the sharp howling of the dogs there came a rapping on the panels of the door. Like a flash André sprang forward. Without a single weapon in case he was attacked he jerked the door open. The light of the candles shone dimly into the haze. For all that, I was able to see the figure of a man standing on the stone step. He was booted and spurred and clad from neck to heels in the long black cloak of a traveler. He wore a broad brimmed hat with a feather in it. When he saw the anxious expression on my brother’s face he smiled and touched his forehead like a salute. Then he bowed with the gravity of a courtier.

“May I come in out of the rain?” he asked.