"You took care to find out!" Lucas cried, knowing he was being badgered, yet powerless to keep himself from writhing.
"I may have."
"Did she see him?" Lucas demanded again, the heavy lines of hatred and jealousy searing his face.
"No credit to you if she did not. You accomplish singularly little to harass M. de Mar in his love-making. You deserve that she should have seen him. But, as a matter of fact, she did not. She was in the chapel with madame."
"What happened?"
"François de Brie—now there is a youngster, Paul," Mayenne interrupted himself to point out, "who has not a tithe of your cleverness; but he has the advantage of being on the spot when needed. Desiring a word with mademoiselle, he betook himself to her chamber. She was not there, but Mar was warbling under the window."
"Brie?"
"Brie bestirred himself. He sent two of the guard round behind the house to cut off the retreat, while he and Latour attacked from the front."
"Mar's killed?" Lucas cried. "He's killed!"
"By no means," answered Mayenne. "He got away."