I caught
her viciously by the wrist, and with my face close up to hers "Folle!"
I cried, and I'll swear no man had ever used the word to her before.
She gasped and choked in her surprise and rage. Then lowering my
voice lest it should reach the approaching soldiers: "Would you ruin
the Vicomte and yourself?" I muttered. Her eyes asked me a question,
and I answered it. "How do you know that the soldiers have come for
your husband? It may be that they are seeking me - and only me.
They may know nothing of the Vicomte's defection. Shall you, then,
be the one to inform them of it by your unbridled rantings and your
accusations?"
Her jaw fell open in astonishment. This was a side of the question
she had not considered.
"Let me prevail upon you, madame, to withdraw and to be of good
courage. It is more than likely that you alarm yourself without
cause."
She continued to stare at me in her amazement and the confusion that
was congenital with it, and if there was not time for her to withdraw,
at least the possibility I had suggested acted as a timely warning.
In that moment the door opened again, and on the threshold appeared
a young man in a plumed hat and corselet, carrying a naked sword in
one hand and a lanthorn in the other. Behind him I caught the gleam
of steel from the troopers at his heels.
"Which of you is Monsieur Rene de Lesperon?" he inquired politely,
his utterance flavoured by a strong Gascon accent.
I stood forward.
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