"
"Ah!" I cried; "and then?"
"Marry, that's all. M. le Comte went straight out of this gate, without
horse or squire. And we have not heard a word of either of them since."
He paused, and when I made no comment, said, a trifle aggrieved:
"Eh bien, you take it calmly, but you would not had you been here. It
was an altogether lively affair. It wouldn't surprise me a whit if some
day Monsieur should be attacked as he drives out. He's not one to forget
an injury, this M. Gervais de Grammont."
At the name, intelligence flashed over me, sudden and clear as last
night's lightning-gleam. Yet this thing I seemed to see was so hideous,
so horrible, that my mind recoiled from it.
"Marcel," I stammered, shuddering, "Marcel--"
"Mordieu! what ails you? Is some one walking on your grave?"
"Marcel, how is M. le Comte named?"
"The Comte de Mar? Oh, do you mean his names in baptism?
Charles-Andre-Etienne-Marie. They call him Etienne. Why do you ask? What
is it?"
It was a certainty, then. Yet I could not bring myself to believe this
horrible thing.
"I have never seen him. How does he look?"
"Oh, not at all like Monsieur. He has fair hair and gray eyes--que
diable!"
For I had flung open Monsieur's door and dashed in.
IX
_The honour of St. Quentin._
Monsieur was seated at his table, talking in a low tone and hurriedly to
Lucas.
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