"Her whereabouts."
He had his hand to his knife by this. I abated somewhat of my drawl to say, still airily:
"Go ask M. de St. Quentin. He's here. He'll be so glad to see you."
"Here?"
"Certes. He's closeted now with M. de Mayenne. They're thicker than brothers. Go see for yourself, M.—Lucas."
"Where is mademoiselle?"
"Safe. She's to marry the Comte de Mar to-morrow."
He stared at me for one moment, weighing whether this could be true; then without further parley he shot into the house.
"Is that true?" d'Auvray demanded.
Their tongues loosened now, they flooded me with questions concerning mademoiselle, which I answered warily as I could, heartily repenting me by this of baiting Lucas. No good could come of it. He might even turn Mayenne from his bargain, upset all our triumph. I hardly heard what the soldiers said to me; I was almost nervous enough, wild enough, to dash up-stairs after him. But that was no help. I stayed where I was, fevered with anxiety.