"My poor apartment is honoured."
As he louted low, I made a spring forward; I thought to pin him before
he could rise. But he was up with the lightness of a bird from the bough
and standing three yards away from me, where I crouched on the spring
like a foiled cat. He grinned at me in open enjoyment.
"Monsieur desired?" he asked sympathetically.
"No, it is I who desire," said M. Étienne, clearing himself a place to
sit on the corner of the table. "I desire that packet, monsieur. You
know this little expedition of yours to-night was something of a
failure. When you report to the general-duke, he will not be in the best
of humours. He does not like failures, the general; he will not incline
to reward you dear. While I am in the very best humour in the world."
He smiled to prove it. Nor do I think his complaisance altogether
feigned. The temper of our host amused him.
As for friend Peyrot, he still looked dazed. I thought it was because he
had not yet made up his mind what line to take; but had I viewed him
with neutral eyes I might easily have deemed his bewilderment genuine.
"Perhaps we should get on better if I could understand what monsieur is
driving at?" he suggested. "Monsieur's remarks about his noble father
and the general-duke are interesting, but humble Jean Peyrot, who does
not move in court circles, is at a loss to translate them. In other
words, I have no notion what you are talking about."
"Oh, come," M. Étienne cried, "no shuffling, Peyrot. We know as well as
you where you were before dawn."
"Before dawn? Marry, I was sleeping the sleep of the virtuous."
M. Étienne slipped across the room as quickly as Peyrot's self might
have done, lifted up a heavy curtain hanging before an alcove, and
disclosed the bed folded smooth, the pillow undisturbed. He turned with
a triumphant grin on the owner, who showed all his teeth pleasantly in
answer, no whit abashed.
"For all you are a count, monsieur, you have the worst manners ever came
inside these walls."
M. le Comte, with no attempt at mending them, went on a tour about the
room, examining with sniffing interest all its furniture, even to the
dishes and tankards on the table. Peyrot, leaning against the wall by
the window, regarded him steadily, with impassive face. At length M.
Étienne walked over to the chest by the chimneypiece and deliberately
put his hand on the key.
Instantly Peyrot's voice rang out, "Stop!" M. Étienne, turning, looked
into his pistol-barrel.
My lord stood exactly as he was, bent over the chest, his fingers on the
key, looking over his shoulder at the bravo with raised, protesting
eyebrows and laughing mouth. But though he laughed, he stood still.
"If you make a movement I do not like, M. de Mar, I will shoot you as I
would a rat. Your side is down and mine is up; I have no fear to kill
you. It will be painful to me, but if necessary I shall do it."