"The Vidame has sent for us." I got to my feet, and buckled on my sword.

Croisette was leaning against the wall, pale and downcast.

Bure filled the open doorway, his feathered cap in his hand, a queer smile on his face.

"You are a good sleeper, young gentleman," he said.

"You should have a good conscience." "Better than yours, no doubt!" I retorted, "or your master's." He shrugged his shoulders, and, bidding us by a sign to follow him, led the way through several gloomy passages.