M. le Comte's face blazed as he cried out:
"Vastly magnanimous! I thank him not. I'll none of his mercy. I expected his faith."
"You had no claim to it, M. le Comte."
"Vigo!" cried the young noble, "you are insolent, sirrah!"
"I cry monsieur's pardon."
He was quite respectful and quite unabashed. He had meant no insolence. But M. Étienne had dared criticise the duke and that Vigo did not allow.
M. Étienne glared at him in speechless wrath. It would have liked him well to bring this contumelious varlet to his knees. But how? It was a byword that Vigo minded no man's ire but the duke's. The King of France could not dash him.
Vigo went on:
"It seems I have exceeded my duty, monsieur, in coming here. Yet it turns out for the best, since Lucas is caught and M. de Grammont dead and you cleared of suspicion."
"What!" Yeux-gris cried. "What! you call me cleared!"