"Or did her big brother set on him for a wicked papist?"
The questions chorussed upon me; I saw they were framed to tease mademoiselle. I answered as best I might:
"He thinks of no lady but Mlle. de Montluc. The fight was over other matters. I am only told to say M. le Comte regrets most heartily that his wound prevents his coming, and to assure mademoiselle that he is too weak and faint to walk across the floor."
"Then exceed your instructions a little. Tell us what monsieur has been about these four weeks that he could not take time to visit us."
I was in a dilemma. I knew she was M. Étienne's chosen lady and therefore deserving of all fealty from me; yet at the same time I could not answer her question. It was sheer embarrassment and no intent of rudeness that caused my short answer:
"About his own concerns, mademoiselle."
"The young puppy begins to growl!" exclaimed the thick-set soldierly fellow who had bespoken me before, whose hostile gaze had never left my face. "I'll have him flogged, mademoiselle, for this insolence."
"M. de Brie—" she began at the same moment that I cried out to her:
"I meant no insolence; I crave mademoiselle's pardon." I added, in my haste floundering deeper into the mire: "Mademoiselle sees for herself that I cannot tell about M. le Comte's affairs in this house."
Brie had me by the collar.