She laid her hand on my arm.
"If I might tell you," she said, "a thing that few know here; none but the King and his near kindred and one or two more."
"But how came you to know of it?" I interrupted.
"I—I also came to know it," she murmured.
"There are many ways of coming to know a thing," said I. "One is by being told; another, madame, is by finding out. Certainly it was amazing how M. de Perrencourt dealt with his Grace; ay, and with my Lord Carford, who shrank out of his path as though he had been—a King." I let my tones give the last word full effect.
"Simon," she whispered in eagerness mingled with alarm, "Simon, what are you saying? Silence for your life!"
"My life, madame, is rooted too deep for a syllable to tear it up. I said only 'as though he had been a king.' Tell me why M. Colbert wears the King's Star. Was it because somebody saw a gentleman wearing the King's Star embrace and kiss M. de Perrencourt the night that he arrived?"
"It was you?"
"It was I, madame. Tell me on whose account three messengers went to London, carrying the words 'Il vient.'"