"What is it? Can't you tell an old chum?"
"No; it is Monsieur's private business."
"Well, you are grumpy!" he cried out pettishly. "You must be out of
grace." He seemed to decide that nothing was to be made out of me just
now on this tack, and with unabated persistence tried another.
"Is it true, Félix, what one of the men said just now, that you tried to
speak with Monsieur this morning when he drove out?"
"Yes. But Monsieur did not recognize me."
"Like enough," Marcel answered. "He has a way of late of falling into
these absent fits. Monsieur is not the man he was."
"He does look older," I said, "and worn. I trow the risk he is
running--"
"Pshaw!" cried Marcel, with scorn. "Is Monsieur a man to mind risks? No;
it is M. le Comte."
I started like a guilty thing, remembering what Yeux-gris had told me
and I, wrapped in my petty troubles, had forgotten. Monsieur had lost
his only son. And I had chosen this time to defy him!
"How long ago was it?" I asked in a hushed voice.
"Since M. le Comte left us? It will be three weeks next Friday."
"How did he die?"
"Die?" echoed Marcel. "You crazy fellow, he is not dead!"
It was my turn to stare.
"Then where is he?"
"It would be money in my pouch if I knew. What made you think him dead,
Félix?"
"A man told me so."
"Pardieu!" he cried in some excitement. "When? Who was it?"
"To-day. I do not know the man's name."
"It seems you know very little. Pardieu! I do not believe M. le Comte is
dead. What else did your man say?"
"Nothing. He only said the Comte de Mar was dead."
"Pshaw! I don't believe it. You believe everything you hear because you
are just from the country. No; if M. le Comte were dead we should hear
of it. Oh, certainly, we should hear."
"But where is he, then? You say he is lost."
"Aye. He has not been seen or heard of since the day they had the
quarrel."
"Who quarrelled?"
"Why, he and Monsieur," answered Marcel, in a lower voice, pointing to
the door of the inner room. "M. le Comte has been his own master too
long to take kindly to a hand over him; that is the whole of it. He has
a quick temper. So has Monsieur."
But I thought of Monsieur's wonderful patience, and I cried:
"Shame!"
"What now?"
"To speak like that of Monsieur."
"Enfin, it is true. He is none the worse for that. But I suppose if
Monsieur had a cloven hoof one must not mention it."
"One would get his head broken."
"Oh, you Broux!" he cried out. "I have not seen you for half a year. I
had forgotten that with you the St. Quentins rank with the saints."
"You--you are a hired servant. You come to Monsieur as you might come to
anybody. With the Broux it is different," I retorted angrily. Yet I
could not but know in my heart that any hired servant might have served
Monsieur better than I. My boasted loyalty--what was it but lip-service?
I said more humbly: "Pshaw! it is no great matter. Tell me about the
quarrel."
"And so I will, if you're civil. In the first place, there was the
question of M. le Comte's marriage."
"What! is he married?"
"Oh, by no means. Monsieur wouldn't have it. You see, Félix," Marcel
said in a tone deep with importance, "we're Navarre's men now."
"Of course," said I.
"I suppose you would say 'of course' just like that to Mayenne himself.
You greenhorn! It is as much as our lives are worth to side openly with
Navarre. The League may attack us any day."
"I know," I said uneasily. Every chance word Marcel spoke seemed to dye
my guilt the deeper. "But what has this to do with M. le Comte's
marriage?" I asked him.
"Why, he was more than half a Leaguer. Perhaps he is one now. Some say
he and Monsieur were at daggers drawn about politics; but I warrant it
was about Mlle. de Montluc. They call her the Rose of Lorraine. She's
the Duke of Mayenne's own cousin and housemate. And we're king's men, so
of course it was no match for Monsieur's son. They say Mayenne himself
favoured the marriage, but our duke wouldn't hear of it. However, the
backbone of the trouble was M. de Grammont."
"And who may he be?"
"He's a cousin of the house. He and M. le Comte are as thick as thieves.
Before we came to Paris they lodged together. So when M. le Comte came
here he brought M. de Grammont. Dare I speak ill of Monsieur's cousin,
Félix? For I would say, at the risk of a broken head, that he is a
sour-faced churl. You cannot deny it. You never saw him."
"No, nor M. le Comte, either."
"Why, you have seen M. le Comte!"
"Never. The only time he came to St. Quentin I was laid up in bed with a
strained leg. I missed the chase. Don't you remember?"
"Why, you are right; that was the time you fell out of the buttery
window when you were stealing tarts, and Margot got after you with the
broomstick. I remember very well."
He was for calling up all our old pranks at the château, but it was
little joy to me to think on those fortunate days when I was Monsieur's
favourite. I said:
"Nay, Marcel, you were telling me of M. le Comte and the quarrel."
"Oh, as for that, it is easy told. You see M. le Comte and this Grammont
took no interest in Monsieur's affairs, and they had very little to say
to him, and he to them. They had plenty of friends in Paris, Leaguers or
not, and they used to go about amusing themselves. But at last M. de
Grammont had such a run of bad luck at the tables that he not only
emptied his own pockets but M. le Comte's as well. I will say for M. le
Comte that he would share his last sou with any one who asked."
"And so would any St. Quentin."
"Oh, you are always piping up for the St. Quentins."
"He should have no need in this house."
We jumped up to find Vigo standing behind us.
"What have you been saying of Monsieur?"
"Nothing, M. Vigo," stammered the page. "I only said M. le Comte--"
"You are not to discuss M. le Comte. Do you hear?"
"Yes, M. Vigo."
"Then obey. And you, Félix, I shall have a little interview with you
shortly."
"As you will, M. Vigo," I said hopelessly.
He went off down the corridor, and Marcel turned angrily on me.
"Mon dieu, Félix, you have got me into a nice scrape with your eternal
chanting of the praises of Monsieur. Like as not I shall get a beating
for it. Vigo never forgets."
"I am sorry," I said. "We should not have been talking of it."
"No, we should not. Come over here where we can watch both doors, and
I'll tell you the rest before the old lynx gets back."
We sat down close together, and he proceeded in a low tone to disobey
Vigo.
"Enfin, as I said, the two young gentlemen were quite sans le sou, for
things had come to a point where M. le Duc looked pretty black at any
application for funds--he has other uses for his gold, you see. One day
Monsieur was expecting some one to whom he was to pay a thousand
pistoles, and to have the money handy he put it in a secret drawer in
his cabinet in the room yonder. The man arrives and is taken to
Monsieur's private room. Monsieur gives him his orders and goes to the
cabinet for his pistoles. No pistoles there!"
Marcel paused dramatically. "And what then?" I asked.
"Well, it appears he had once shown M. le Comte the trick of the drawer,
so he sent for him--not to accuse him, mind you. For M. le Comte is wild
enough, yet Monsieur did not think he would steal pistoles, nor would
he, I will stake my oath. No, Monsieur merely asked him if he had ever
shown any one the drawer, and M. le Comte answered, 'Only Grammont.'"