What if I were now to enlighten him? What if I were to tell him
that I was not Lesperon - no rebel at all, in fact - but Marcel de
Bardelys, the King's favourite? That he would account me a spy I
hardly thought; but assuredly he would see that my life must be a
danger to his own; he must fear betrayal from me; and to protect
himself he would be justified in taking extreme measures. Rebels
were not addicted to an excess of niceness in their methods, and it
was more likely that I should rise no more from the luxurious bed
on which his hospitality had laid me. But even if I had exaggerated
matters, and the Vicomte were not quite so bloodthirsty as was usual
with his order, even if he chose to accept my promise that I would
forget what he had said, he must nevertheless - in view of his
indiscretion - demand my instant withdrawal from Lavedan. And what,
then, of my wager with Chatellerault?
Then, in thinking of my wager, I came to think of Roxalanne herself
--that dainty, sweet-faced child into whose chamber I had penetrated
on the previous night. And would you believe it that I - the
satiated, cynical, unbelieving Bardelys - experienced dismay at the
very thought of leaving Lavedan for no other reason than because it
involved seeing no more of that provincial damsel?
My unwillingness to be driven from her presence determined me to
stay. I had come to Lavedan as Lesperon, a fugitive rebel. In that
character I had all but announced myself last night to Mademoiselle.
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