Mayenne's angry eye was on him but he did not move;
and Lucas made no more steps. Controlling himself with an effort, he
said:
"It was not my fault, monsieur. No man could have laboured harder or
planned better than I. I have been diligent, I have been clever. I have
made my worst enemy my willing tool--I have made Monsieur's own son my
cat's-paw. I have left no end loose, no contingency unprovided for--and
I am ruined by a freak of fate."
"I never knew a failure yet but what the fault was fate's," Mayenne
returned.
"Call it accident, then, call it the devil, call it what you like!"
Lucas cried. "I still maintain it was not my fault. Listen, monsieur."
He sat down again and began his story, striving as he talked to
reconquer something of his old coolness.
"The thing was ruined by the advent of this boy, Mar's lackey I spoke
of. You said he had not been here?"
"You may go to Lorance with that question," Mayenne answered; "I have
something else to attend to than the intrigues of my wife's maids."
"He started hither; I thought some one would have the sense to keep him.
Mordieu! I will find from Lorance whether she saw him."
He fell silent, gnawing his lip; I could see that his thought had
travelled away from the plot to the sore subject of mademoiselle's
affections.
"Well," said Mayenne, sharply, "what about your boy?"
It was a moment before Lucas answered.
Pages:
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177