Lucette laughed airily.
“That’s easy to answer, of a surety. Because he is the brother of Mistress Gabrielle’s late mother, and it is a family affair.”
“There mewed the blind kitten,” he cried with another of his triumphant laughs.
“And there squeaked a rat!”
“Does a good man like to see his niece, a pure woman, mated with a scoundrel? Does he work and scheme and strive and plot to force it on? Answer me that, kitten.”
“Does even a rat seek to bite the hand that feeds it? Answer me that, rat.”
“Feeds it? Out on such feeding,” he cried with sudden malevolence. “Uses it, fools it, kicks it, and throws a few husks to it, keeping all the grain for himself. I know what I know, I tell you. And you should know it too if you—but never mind. Go on with your mewing, and when your gay gallant comes, set him on another pedestal as high as my noble master’s and fawn on him.”
“What grudge have you against M. de Cobalt that you would set us against him?”
“Grudge? I have no grudge. I have never even set eyes on him. But I know what I know. And when your eyes get opened, remember to-day.”
“And why should a rat squeak against a man he has never seen?”