THE WINDING STAIRS
I left the table early, and went to my room. I tore two strips from the sheet of my bed, and wrapped them around my boots so as to cover the soles and deaden my footsteps. Slowly the night came, with stars and a moon well toward the full. But we could keep in shadow while about the chateau, and the light would aid our travelling later. At half-past ten o'clock, the house seemed so still I thought the Count must have gone to bed before his usual time. I stole noiselessly from my room, feeling my way; and partly down the stairs. But when I got to the head of the lower flight, I saw that the hall was still lighted. I peered over the railing. The Count and the Captain were alone, except for two knaves who sat asleep on their bench at the lower end of the hall. The Count lounged limply back in his great chair at the head of the table, unsteadily holding a glass of wine; and the Captain leaned forward on the board, narrowly regarding the Count. Both were well gone in wine, the Count apparently the more so. There was a look of mental torment on the Count's face.
"Yes, I know, I know," he said, wincing at his own words as if they pierced him. "There was opportunity enough with that De Merri. I was blind then. And with this new puppy! Women and lovers have the ingenuity of devils in devising opportunities. And they both admit their interview in the garden. But that he could have his way so soon—is that entirely probable?"
He looked at the Captain almost beseechingly, as if for a spark of hope.
The Captain spoke with the calm certainty of wisdom gained through a world of experience:
"Young blood is quickly stirred. Young lips are quickly drawn to one another. Young arms are quick to reach out, and young bodies quick to yield to them."
The Count uttered a cry of pain and wrath, his eyes fixed as though upon the very scene the Captain imagined.
"The wretches!" said the tortured Count, staggering to his feet. "And I am the Count de Lavardin!"
