"As I would take M. de Paris, if I chose," responded Yeux-gris, with a cold hauteur that smacked more of a court than of this shabby room. He added lightly again:
"You think him a spy, I do not. But in any case, he must not blab of us. Therefore he stays here and brushes my clothes. Marry, they need it."
Easily, with grace, he had disposed of the matter. But I said:
"Monsieur, I shall do nothing of the kind."
"What!" he cried, as if the clothes-brush itself had risen in rebellion, "what! you will not."
"No," said I.
"And why not?" he demanded, plainly thinking me demented.
"Because I know you are against the Duke of St. Quentin."
Whatever they had thought me, neither expected that speech.
"I am no spy or sneak," said I. "It is true I came here by chance; it is true Monsieur turned me off this morning. But I was born on his land and I am no traitor. I will not be valet or henchman for either of you, if I die for it."