A tall soldier with a musket stood at her back; at one side Lucas lounged by the cabinet where the duke had set down the light. His right hand he held behind his back, while with his left he poked his dagger into the candle-flame.
Mayenne, red and puffing, hurried into the room.
"What is the pother?" he demanded. "What devilment now, Paul?"
"Mademoiselle's protégé is nervous," Lucas answered with a fine sneer. "When I drew out my knife to get the thief from the candle he screamed to wake the dead and took sanctuary in the oratory."
I had given him the lie then and there, but as I emerged from the darkness Mayenne commanded:
"Take him out to the street, d'Auvray."
The tall musketeer, saluting, motioned me to precede him. For a moment I hesitated, burning to defend my valour before mademoiselle. Then, reflecting how much harm my hasty tongue had previously done me, and that the path to freedom was now open before me, I said nothing. Nor had I need. For as I turned she flashed over to Lucas and said straight in his face:
"When you marry me, Paul de Lorraine, you will marry a dead wife."