He burst into an angry laugh.
"Say you are possessed of a devil, and I will believe it. My faith! though you are a low-born lad and I Duke of St. Quentin, I seem to be getting the worst of it."
"There is the boot, Monsieur."
Monsieur laughed again, no less angrily.
"That does not help me, my good Vigo. I cannot torture a Broux."
"There Monsieur is wrong. The lad has been disloyal and insolent, if he is a Broux."
"Granted, Vigo," said M. le Duc. But he did not add, "Fetch the boot."
Vigo went on with steady persistence. "He has not been loyal to Monsieur and his interests in refusing to tell what he knows. And if he goes counter to Monsieur's interests he is a traitor, Broux or no Broux. He has no claim to be treated as other than an enemy. These are serious times. Monsieur does not well to play with his dangers. The boy must tell what he knows. Am I to go for the boot, Monsieur?"
M. le Duc was silent for a moment, while the hot flush that had sprung to his face died away. Then he answered Vigo:
"Nevertheless, it is owing to Félix that I shall not walk out to meet my death to-night."