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"Messieurs," I said, "if it is my name that does not please you, why, I can say for it that if it is not very high-sounding, at least it is an honest one and has ever been held so down where we live." "And that is at St. Quentin," said Yeux-gris. "Yes, monsieur. My father, Anton Broux, is Master of the Forest to the Duke of St. Quentin."
Nor would he consider the troubled times and the danger of his position, and ignore the affair, as many would have deemed best. He would not stop to think what the Sixteen might have to say to it. No; he would call out his guards and slay the plotters in the Rue Coupejarrets like the wolves they were. It was right he should, but I owed my life to Yeux-gris. "His name, man, his name!"
"Monsieur," I answered, as I think, very neatly, "if I am a well, truth lies at the bottom." "Well, Gervais?" demanded Yeux-gris. Gervais bent his lowering brows on his cousin. "Do you say, trust him?" "Aye, I would trust him. For never yet did villain turn honest, nor honest man false, in one short hour. When he was asked to serve against the duke he showed his stuff.
So they planned to kill Lucas at Monsieur's side? Yeux-gris had not dared to tell me that. But he had looked me straight in the face and sworn on the cross no harm was meant to M. le Duc. Natheless, the thing looked ugly. My heart leaped up at the next words: "Also Vigo will go." "Vigo!" "Not so loud! You will have the guard on us! Yes, he is to go.
I could creep up-stairs and mayhap stab Yeux-gris before they were aware of my coming. But that was not my purpose. I was no bravo to strike in the back, but the instrument of a righteous vengeance. He must know why he died. One to three, I had no chance. But if I knocked openly it was likely that Yeux-gris, being my patron, would be the one to come down to me.
I had no notion of breaking in upon you or any one. They said the house was haunted." "Who said that?" "Maître Jacques, at the Amour de Dieu." He stared at me in surprise. "What had you been asking about this house?" Yeux-gris, lounging against the table, struck in: "I can tell you that myself. He told Jacques he saw us in the window last night. Did you not?" "Aye, monsieur.
M. le Comte appeared to be in a state of stupor. He could not for a space find his tongue to demand: "How, in the name of Heaven, come you here?" "To fight Grammont," Lucas answered at once. "A lie!" I shouted. "You're Grammont's friend. You came here to warn him off. It's your plot!" "Félix! The plot?" Yeux-gris cried. "The plot's to murder Monsieur. Martin let it out.
I stood there long, first on one foot and then on the other, fearful every moment lest some one of Monsieur's true men should come along to demand my business. No one appeared, either foe or friend, for so long that I began to think Yeux-gris had tricked me and sent me here on a fool's errand, when, all at once, a low voice said close to my ear: "What seek you here?"
"No; that will not do." "Eh, bien, then, what will you propose?" But it was some one else who proposed. I said to Yeux-gris: "Monsieur, if all your purpose is against Lucas and no other, I am your man. I will go." "What, my stubborn-neck, you?" "Why, monsieur, I owe you a great debt. While I thought you meant ill to M. le Duc, I could not serve you. But this Lucas is another pair of sleeves.
Let him get wind of us here, and he will never let us catch him." "Well," said Yeux-gris, reluctantly, "it is true. And though I will not have the boy harmed, he shall stay here. I will not put a spoke in the wheel. We will take no risks till Lucas is shent. The boy shall be held prisoner. And afterward " "I will come myself and let him out," said Gervais, and laughed.
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