"I fall for my lady," M. Étienne finished. "The bravest captain of them all does no better than that."
"M. Étienne, she is no wife for you. You cannot get her. And if you could 'twere pity. She is a Ligueuse, and you from now on are a staunch Kingsman. Give her up, monsieur. You have had this maggot in your brain this four years. Once for all, get it out. Go to St. Denis; take your troop among Biron's horse. That is the place for you. You will marry a maid of honour and die a marshal of France."
M. Étienne laid his arm around Vigo's shoulder with a smile.
"Good old Vigo! Vigo, tell me this; if you saw a marshal's baton waiting you in the field, and at home your dearest friend were alone and in peril, would you go off after glory?"
"Aye, if 'twas a hopeless business to stay, certes I would go."
"Oh, tell that in Bedlam!" M. Étienne cried. "You would do nothing of the sort. Was it to win glory you stayed three years in that hole, St. Quentin?"
"I had no choice, monsieur. My master was there."
"And my mistress is here! You may save your breath, Vigo; I know what I shall do. The eloquence of monk Christin wouldn't change me."
"What is your purpose, M. Étienne?" Vigo asked.
Indeed, there was a vagueness about his scheme as revealed to us.