“Taverney? my lord, I was handsomely entertained by your father—be welcome here,” said the count.
“This is better,” uttered Philip.
“Be good enough to follow me.”
Balsamo closed the secret door and walked before his guest to the parlor where he had outfaced the five masters of the Invisibles. It was lighted up as though visitors were expected, but that was only one of the habits of this luxurious establishment.
“Good evening, Captain Taverney,” said Fenix in a voice so mild and low that it made him look at him.
He started back. He was but the shadow of himself: a smile of mortal sorrow flitted on the pallid lips.
“I must offer excuses for my servant,” he said; “he was only obeying orders and you must own that you were wrong to overbear them.”
“My lord, you must know that there are cases when circumstances overrule,” returned Philip, “and this is one of them. To speak to you, I was bound to brave death.”
“Speak quickly,” said Balsamo, “for I warn you that I listen out of kindness and that I am soon tired.”
“I shall speak as I ought to do, and at what length I see fit, and whether you please or not, I shall commence with a question.”