"What boy?"
"A young Picard from the St. Quentin estate, whom the devil prompted to come up to town to-day. Mar sent him here to-night with a love-message to Lorance."
"Oh," said Mayenne, slowly, "if it is a question of mademoiselle's love-affairs, it may be put off till to-morrow. It is plain to the very lackeys that you are jealous of Mar. But at present we are discussing l'affaire St. Quentin."
"It is all one," Lucas answered quickly. "You know what is to be the reward of my success."
"I thought you told me you had failed."
Lucas's hand moved instinctively to his belt; then he thought better of it and laid both hands, empty, on the table.
"Our plot has failed; but that does not mean that St. Quentin is immortal."
"You may be very sure of one thing, my friend," the duke observed. "I shall never give Lorance de Montluc to a white-livered flincher."
"The Duke of St. Quentin is not immortal," Lucas repeated. "I have missed him once, but I shall get him in spite of all."
"I am not sure about Lorance even then," said Mayenne, reflectively. "François de Brie is agitating himself about that young mistress. And he has not made any failures—as yet."