“No,” said Cartouche, irresistibly tickled for the moment. “There are limits even to his friendship.”
“You do not know her?”
“Not even by sight.”
“She is very pretty, Mr Trix.”
Cartouche, staring at the speaker a moment, took his pipe from his lips, which as always, when his mood grew ugly, seemed to thin down against his teeth.
“What are you hinting at?” he demanded low. “A pox on your innuendo! Out with it!”
The physician grinned unconcerned.
“Only,” said he, “that I hope, when you do see her, it will not make you wish to take your blood-brother’s place in the spoiling of di Rocco’s romance.”
Cartouche leaped to his feet.
“Beast!” he hissed. “If thou hadst as much nose as a barber could lay hold on, I would take thee by it and shave thy cursed throat!”