Indeed, but for the formality of the thing, he might have spared himself the question, for lounging about the courtyard were a score of stalwart weather-tanned fellows, whose air and accoutrements proclaimed them soldiers.

It required little shrewdness to guess in them the personal followers of the Marquis, the remainder of the little troop that had followed the young seigneur to the wars when, some three years ago, he had set out from Condillac.
Garnache gave orders for the horses to be cared for, and bade Rabecque get himself fed in the common room.

Heralded by the host, the Parisian then mounted the stairs to Monsieur de Condillac's apartments.
The landlord led the way to the inn's best room, turned the handle, and, throwing wide the door, stood aside for Monsieur de Garnache to enter.
From within the chamber came the sounds of a scuffle, a man's soft laugh, and a girl's softer intercession.
"Let me go, monsieur.

Of your pity, let me go.

Some one is coming." "And what care I who comes ?" answered a voice that seemed oppressed by laughter.
Garnache strode into the chamber--spacious and handsomely furnished as became the best room of the Auberge du Sanglier Noir--to find a meal spread on the table, steaming with an odour promising of good things, but neglected by the guest for the charms of the serving-wench, whose waist he had imprisoned.