Their sergeant sat a little apart, in conversation with the landlord's wife, eyes upturned adoringly, oblivious of the increasing scowl that gathered about her watchful husband's brow.
At another table sat four gentlemen--seemingly travellers, by their air and garb--in a conversation that was hushed at Garnache's entrance.
But he paid no heed to them as he stalked with ringing step across the rushstrewn floor, nor observed how covertly and watchfully their glances followed him as returning, in passing the sergeant's prompt salute he vanished through the doorway leading to the stairs.
He reappeared again a moment later, to call the host, and give him orders for the preparing of his own and Rabecque's supper.
On the landing above he found Rabecque awaiting him.
"Is all well ?" he asked, and received from his lackey a reassuring answer.
Mademoiselle welcomed him gladly.

His long absence, it appeared, had been giving her concern.

He told her on what errand he had been, and alarm overspread her face upon hearing its result.
"But, monsieur," she cried, "you are not proposing that I should remain a night in Grenoble." "What alternative have we ?" he asked, and his brows met, impatient at what he accounted no more than feminine whimsey.
"It is not safe," she exclaimed, her fears increasing.

"You do not know how powerful are the Condillacs." He strode to the fire, and the logs hissed under the pressure of his wet boot.

He set his back to the blaze, and smiled down upon her.
"Nor do you know how powerful are we," he answered easily.