"There you are wrong. For I never had it, and I am not cured of it. If I hung around the Hôtel de Lorraine, it was not for politics; it was for petticoats."
Vigo made no answer, but the corners of his grim mouth twitched.
"That's no news, either? Well, then, since you know so much, you may as well know more. Step up, Félix, and tell your tale."
I did as I was bid, M. Étienne now and then taking the words out of my mouth in his eagerness, Vigo listening to us both with grave attention. I had for the second time in my career the pleasure of startling him out of his iron composure when I told him the true name and condition of Lucas. But at the end of the adventure all the comment he made was:
"A fool for luck."
"Well," said M. Étienne, impatiently, "is that all you have to say? What are we to do about it?"
"Do? Why, nothing."
"Nothing?" he cried, with his hand on his sword. "Nothing? And let that scoundrel have her?"
"That is M. de Mayenne's affair," Vigo said. "We can't help it."
"I will help it!" M. Étienne declared. "Mordieu! Am I to let that traitor, that spy, that soul of dirt, marry Mlle. de Montluc?"