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"If we can believe d'Herouville, our dear Canalis stands in no need of your help in that direction," said the duke, smiling. "Yesterday Grandlieu read me some passages from a letter the grand equerry had written him.
The duke struck his hand into that of his physician as a sign of complete acceptance, and retired to his own apartments. When the days of a high and mighty seigneur are numbered, the physician becomes a personage of importance in the household. It is, therefore, not surprising to see a former bonesetter so familiar with the Duc d'Herouville.
Has it ever occurred to you, my poet, to investigate Monsieur le Chevalier's grey cloak; that is to say, search its pockets?" Victor smothered an oath and thwacked his thigh. "Horns of Panurge!" softly. "Then you have not. It would be droll if our salvation was accompanying us to the desert." The vicomte was up and heading toward D'Hérouville.
You were born to be something better than a nincompoop; you are as a man what I am as a woman a spendthrift of genius." "We will sleep on it and discuss it all to-morrow morning." "You will dine with the Duke. My d'Herouville will receive you as civilly as if you were the saviour of the State; and to-morrow you can decide. Come, be jolly, old boy!
There was death in the Chevalier's eyes, and the corporal saw it. He struggled. "Quick!" "Monsieur d'Hérouville! . . . You are killing me!" The Chevalier released the man's throat. "Get up," contemptuously. The corporal crawled to his knees and staggered to his feet. "By God, Monsieur! . . ." adjusting his collar. "Not a word. How much did he pay you to act thus basely?" "Pay me?"
For my part, I would have sworn that D'Hérouville was the man. Besides you, Monsieur, D'Hérouville is a tyro, a Mazarin to a Machiavelli." "You flatter me. But why not D'Hérouville instead of me?" "Monsieur, your very audacity betrayed you. Last night you put on the grey cloak. A log spurted a flame, and at once I remembered all." "Indeed," ironically. "Yes.
D'Hérouville insulted her and the Chevalier took up her cause." "Why, then, did you not pick your quarrel with the count?" "The vicomte had some prior claim." The governor got up and walked about, biting his mustache. Victor eyed him with some anxiety. "But the Chevalier; why did he not defend himself?" Victor breathed impatiently. "Frankly, Monsieur, how can he defend himself?" "True."
"Dear Modeste," he began, in a coaxing tone, "considering the terms on which we stand to each other, shall I displease you if I say that your replies to the Duc d'Herouville were very painful to a man in love, above all, to a poet whose soul is feminine, nervous, full of the jealousies of true passion.
I never retract;" and the marquis snapped his fingers under D'Hérouville's nose. D'Hérouville slapped the marquis in the face. "Your age, Monsieur, will not save you. No man shall address me in this fashion!" "Not even my son, eh, Monsieur? There is still blood in your muddy veins, then? Come to my room, Monsieur; no one will see us there.
Instead of endeavoring to appear more amiable and wittier than his rival, Ernest imitated the Duc d'Herouville, and was gloomy, anxious, and watchful; but whereas the courier studied the freaks of the young heiress, Ernest simply fell a prey to the pains of dark and concentrated jealousy. He had not yet been able to obtain a glance from his idol. After a while he left the room with Butscha.
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