"Never saw me, Félix Broux!" I cried, completely taken aback.
"No," maintained Constant. "You are an impostor."
"Impostor! Nonsense!" I cried out. "Constant, you know me as well as you know yourself. I say I must see the duke; his life is in danger!"
Constant was paying off old scores with interest.
"An impostor," he yelled shrilly, "or else a madman—or an assassin."
"That is the truth," said some one, laying a heavy hand on my shoulder.
I turned; two men of the guard had come up, my friend of just now and my foe of the morning. It was the latter who held me and said:
"This is the very rascal who sprang on Monsieur's coach-step in the morning. M. Lucas threw him off, else he might have stabbed Monsieur. We were fools enough to let him go free. But this time he shall not get off so easy."
"I am innocent of all thought of harm," I cried. "I am M. le Duc's loyal servant. I meant no harm this morning, and I mean none now. I am here to save Monsieur's life."
"He is here to kill Monsieur; he is an assassin!" screamed Constant. "Flog him, men; he will own the truth then!"