He broke in on me fiercely.
"Think you that I—I, smirched and sullied, reeking with plots of murder—am likely to betake myself to the noblest gentleman in France?"
"He will welcome M. le Comte."
"Nay; he believed me guilty."
"But, monsieur—"
"You may not say 'but' to me."
"Pardon, monsieur. Am I to tell Vigo monsieur is gone?"
"Yes, tell him." His lip quivered; he struggled hard for steadiness. "You will go to M. le Duc, Félix, and rise in his favour, for it was you saved his life. Then tell him this from me—that some day, when I have made me worthy to enter his presence, then will I go to him and beg his forgiveness on my knees. And now farewell."
He slipped away into the darkness.
I stood hesitating for a moment. Then I followed my lord.