"Mordieu! what ails you? Is some one walking on your grave?"
"Marcel, how is M. le Comte named?"
"The Comte de Mar? Oh, do you mean his names in baptism? Charles-André-Étienne-Marie. They call him Étienne. Why do you ask? What is it?"
It was a certainty, then. Yet I could not bring myself to believe this horrible thing.
"I have never seen him. How does he look?"
"Oh, not at all like Monsieur. He has fair hair and gray eyes—que diable!"
For I had flung open Monsieur's door and dashed in.