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this afternoon. It is wise, in France just now, to be most careful. You are recovered from your fright, I trust?”
    “Indeed, we both hope so. A most disturbing experience for a lady,” said De Clairpont.
    “I am quite recovered, thank you. It was all a misunderstanding,” I said carefully.
    I went on my way. Dale had lingered, waiting for me. “Who would those gentlemen be, ma’am?” she asked. “Do you know them? How do you know who to trust, in this nest of Papists?”
    “Dale!” I snapped warningly, pushing her ahead of me up the stairs, and when we reached my room, I shut the door after us and once again gave her a piece of my mind. “One more remark like that and you’ll regret it, Dale. I’ve never raised a hand to you but how many more times must I warn you?”
    “Oh, ma’am, I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” I had never spoken to Dale quite so harshly before and now her eyes filled with tears. But France was a perilous place and for Dale’s sake as well as my own, I had to make my point.
    “Never mind about being sorry; just watch your tongue, do you hear? Either De Clairpont or Van Weede could have overheard you and it just won’t do, Dale. I suspect that Van Weede may speak English. De Clairpont’s obviously educated and may understand it, too. Keep your opinions to yourself while we’re in France. De Clairpont rescued me from Charpentier, which entitles him to my courtesy, and Van Weede I’ve never met before, which means I have no reason not to be polite to him.” Dale’s tears were now streaming and I moderated my tone. “All right. You understand now, I think. I am grateful to De Clairpont and I quite liked the look ofVan Weede, but trust doesn’t come into it. De Clairpont is rather frightening, somehow, and as for Van Weede . . .”
    I had lived in Antwerp with Gerald and met many Netherlander merchants. I had heard them trying to speak French, too. Sir Thomas Gresham had a cosmopolitan household in which people were forever trying to communicate with one another in languages not their own. Netherland merchants didn’t dress or speak like Van Weede. At a guess, I would have said that he was English.
    “I must say I don’t care for this feeling of mysteries all round,” I said, after I had explained this. “I want to leave here quickly and I can only pray that Master Blanchard will be better in the morning.”
    He was not.
     
    I came down to breakfast next day, to find William Harvey trying to explain to Charpentier that his master needed a physician. Because of Harvey’s bad French, Charpentier couldn’t understand him.
    “Can I help?” I said.
    Brusquely, Harvey explained. “Master Blanchard’s worse,” he said to me. My heart sank. But in seeking medical help, Harvey was doing the right thing. I translated for Charpentier, who, once he understood, informed me that the local apothecary whose direction he had given me the day before, was also the local physician. His name was Dr. Alain Lejeune. “And fetch him quickly,” he said. “Sick guests don’t do an inn any good. People wonder if it’s catching, or if the food is bad.”
    De Clairpont had already made the point that murdered guests were even worse for an inn’s reputation than sick ones. I refrained from repeating it. “I’ll fetch the doctor, Harvey. It had better be me, since I speak French. Dale will come with me.”
    Harvey nodded brusquely, and after a pause had the grace to say: “Thank you.” He even added: “Last night, you and Dale supped upstairs, to keep out of the way of the other guests. Best you do the same for breakfast now.”
    I took his advice. Dale and I took some food quickly and privately, and then we set out.
    Lejeune lived at the other end of the main street. We had come through it to the square where the inn stood. It was a narrow, straggling affair of shops with dwellings over the top, and it was busy with rattling carts and housewives carrying baskets. We walked briskly, because the