"Oh, that is quite another matter!" said Gaston, coldly; "tell me your suspicions—I listen."
"Chevalier, remember the facts; we four were conspiring together, and we did not seek your aid; you offered it, saying, that besides being willing to aid in the public good, you had a private revenge to serve in this. Am I not right?"
"You are."
"We received you—welcomed you as a friend, as a brother; we told you all our hopes, all our plans; nay, more—you were elected, by chance, the one to strike the glorious blow. Each one of us offered to take your part, but you refused. Is it not so?"
"You have spoken the strictest truth, marquis."
"This very morning we drew the lots; this evening you should be on the road to Paris. Instead of that, where do we find you? on the road to Clisson, where are lodged the mortal enemies of Breton independence, where lives your sworn foe—the Marechal de Montesquieu."
"Ah! monsieur," said Gaston, scornfully.
"Reply by open words, and not by sneers: reply, M. de Chanlay, and quickly."
"Reply, Gaston," said Du Couëdic and Montlouis, imploringly.
"And to what am I to reply?"