“I have committed no offence, mademoiselle, save in having misled you to believe I was a worse man than I am. For that I have to crave your pardon, pleading only in excuse the reasons I have shown. For the rest, I have done no wrong,” he said, meeting confidently the Governor’s threatening looks.
“You are a spy, monsieur, and as a spy shall be treated.”
“It is no uncommon thing for strangers to travel without disclosing their names. Is that a crime in Morvaix which is a common practice all over France and Europe?”
“Do you say now you are naught but a traveller?”
“Far from it. I have a purpose in coming to your city.”
“Then you are a spy, I say.”
“I am no spy, monsieur. I am a soldier. A true son of France with none but pure French blood in my veins; and a loyal subject of His Majesty the King, of whom we are all subjects in common. I have fought under the great Bourbon, the Suzerain of this city and the territory of Morvaix. To hold me for a spy will argue ill of Morvaix and the rule that prevails here.”
“You dare to threaten me, then?”
“Monsieur has doubtless his papers to support his statements and a safe conduct from his powerful friends,” suggested de Proballe, with a sneer.
“Aye, of course, produce them,” declared the Governor. “They may explain the suspicious manner of your coming.”