“Yes, my lord.”
“Ah, that is true,” said De Guiche; “I had forgotten it.”
“That is easily understood; it was you who took him, count,” said Raoul, smiling.
The old marshal turned toward the viscount, grateful for that praise of his son, whilst the prince exclaimed:
“The young man is right; let the prisoner be brought in.”
Meanwhile the prince took De Guiche aside and asked him how the prisoner had been taken and who this young man was.
“Monsieur,” said the prince, turning toward Raoul, “I know that you have a letter from my sister, Madame de Longueville; but I see that you have preferred commending yourself to me by giving me good counsel.”
“My lord,” said Raoul, coloring up, “I did not wish to interrupt your highness in a conversation so important as that in which you were engaged with the count. But here is the letter.”
“Very well,” said the prince; “give it to me later. Here is the prisoner; let us attend to what is most pressing.”
The prisoner was one of those military adventurers who sold their blood to whoever would buy, and grew old in stratagems and spoils. Since he had been taken he had not uttered a word, so that it was not known to what country he belonged. The prince looked at him with unspeakable distrust.