“Better than me, perhaps,” said Henri, smiling.
“There is no perhaps in it.”
“You are mad. Learn to read, my friend.”
“Well, Henri, you who can read, read this;” and he drew from his pocket the genealogy which we know already, handing it to Henri, who turned pale as he recognized, near to the signature of the prelate, the seal of St. Peter.
“What do you say, Henri? Are not your fleur-de-lys thrown a little in the background?”
“But how did you get this genealogy?”
“I! Do I seek these things? It came to seek me.”
“Where?”
“Under the bolster of a lawyer.”
“And what was his name?”