I made pretence of looking about me.
"Where is he?"
"He sits here. I am page to the Duke of St. Quentin. And you?"
"Touché!" I admitted bitterly enough. Little Marcel, my junior, my unquestioning follower in the old days, was now indeed my better, quite in a position to patronize.
"Continue, if you please, Marcel. Yet, in passing, I should like to ask you how much you heard our talk in there just now."
"Nothing," he answered candidly. "When they are so far down the room one cannot hear a word. In the affair of the pistoles they stood near the cabinet at this end. One could not help but hear. As for listening at keyholes, I scorn it."
"Yes, it is well to scorn it. People have an unpleasant trick of opening doors so suddenly."
He laughed cheerfully.
"Old Vigo caught us, certes. Let's see, where was I? Oh, yes, then Monsieur put on his proud look and said, if it was a case of no one but his son and his cousin, he preferred to drop the matter. But M. le Comte got out of him what the trouble was and went off for Grammont, red as fire. The two together came back to Monsieur and denied up and down that either of them knew aught of his pistoles, or had told of the secret to any one. They say it was easy to see that Monsieur did not believe Grammont, but he did not give him the lie, and the matter came near dropping there, for M. le Duc would not accuse a kinsman. But then Lucas gave a new turn to the affair."
"How long has Lucas been here, Marcel? Who is he?"