CHAPTER XIX.
THE MISCHIEF STILL THICKENS ON ALL SIDES
Hurriedly as François d’Aubray ascended the staircase, yet the others found time to receive him with due effect. Gaudin retreated within the lumbering piece of furniture that took up half one side of the room; Exili resumed his attitude of attention to the chemical preparations going on; and Lachaussée, burying his features still deeper in his capuchin cowl, hastily lighted a rude lamp standing on a tripod near the table, which, trimmed with some medicated spirit, burned with a ghastly flame that threw a cadaverous and almost unearthly light upon the countenances of those who turned their faces towards it.
‘I am before my time,’ said François, as he entered the room; ‘it yet wants a good half-hour to curfew.’
‘We are at your service,’ replied Exili; ‘my assistant told me we might expect you, Monsieur d’Aubray.’
‘You know me, then!’ exclaimed the other with surprise.
‘No more than I am acquainted with every one else who comes to seek my aid,’ answered the physician calmly. ‘I should lay small claim to my title of astrologer if I could not divine the position or desires of my clients.’
‘Then you know my business here this evening?’
‘Part has been told me,’ said Exili—‘part, and the most important, I can read here.’
From a small china cup he took some noisome black unguent, with which he smeared his hands, and held them in the light of the coloured flame. Then tracing (or pretending to do so) certain things delineated on the compound, he continued—
‘I see Notre Dame by night, and a duel being fought on the terrain, between yourself and one they call Gaudin de Sainte-Croix. You wound him—he leaves with his témoin in a boat, and you return to the Hôtel d’Aubray.’