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"In any case, you have soldiers." "And so has she, and the strongest castle in southern France to say nothing of the most cursed obstinacy in the world. What she says, she does." "And what the Queen says her loyal servants do," was Garnache's rejoinder, in a withering tone. "I think there is nothing more to be said, monsieur," he added.
My poor little Valerie!" he spluttered through his half-checked mirth, "does she wait for me still? does she count me still betrothed to her? And because of that, says 'No' to brother Marius! Death of my life! I shall die of it." "I have a notion that you may, monsieur," rasped Garnache's voice, and with it rasped Garnache's chair upon the boards.
She had turned and looked at the strange spectacle of that dauntless man, erect, his foot upon Marius's neck, like some fantastic figure of a contemporary Saint George and a contemporary dragon. She pressed her hands tighter upon her bosom; her eyes sparkled with an odd approval of that brisk deed. But Garnache's watchful eyes were upon the Dowager.
But the other took his meaning there and then, lay back in his chair, and burst out laughing. The blood hummed through Garnache's head as he tightened his lips and watched this gentleman indulge his inexplicable mirth. Surely Monsieur de Condillac was possessed of the keenest sense of humour in all France. He laughed with a will, and Garnache sent up a devout prayer that the laugh might choke him.
The master of the Convent' of Saint Francis of Cheylas a tall, lean man with an ascetic face, prominent cheekbones, and a nose not unlike Garnache's own the nose of a man of action rather than of prayer bowed gravely to this stalwart stranger, and in courteous accents begged to be informed in what he might serve him.
"Stab now, Fortunio!" The captain asked nothing better. He raised his weary sword-arm and brought his point to the level of Garnache's breast, but in that instant its weight became leaden. Imitating the Marquise, Valerie had been in time. She seized Fortunio's half-lifted arm and flung all her weight upon it.
The door creaked on its hinges; the key grated screaming in its lock, and Rabecque returned to Garnache's side even as Garnache tapped Marius on the shoulder. "This way, Monsieur de Condillac, if you please," said he, and as Marius turned at last to face him, he stood aside and waved his left hand towards the door through which they had lately emerged.
Thus, only by breaking it could egress be obtained, and the breaking of it could not be effected without such a noise as must arouse "Battista." Under Garnache's instructions the comedy was carried a little further. Mademoiselle affected for her gaoler a most unconquerable aversion, and this she took pains to proclaim.
Garnache said nothing. Acknowledge the courtesy he would not; refuse it he could not. So he sat, and waited for her to speak, his eyes upon the fire. Madame had already set herself a course. Keener witted than her son, she had readily understood, upon Garnache's being announced to her, that his visit meant the failure of the imposture by which she had sought to be rid of him.
"I am the bearer of letters for Madame the Dowager Marquise de Condillac," was the reply; whereupon, with an arrogant nod, Fortunio bade the fellow go with him, and issued an order that his horse should be cared for. Arsenio was speaking in Garnache's ear. The man's nature was inquisitive, and he was indulging idle conjectures as to what might be the news this courier brought.
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