Monsieur's brows drew together, as if he were trying to recall something half remembered, half forgotten.
"But the men," he cried, "the men!"
"They are three. One a low fellow named Pontou."
"Pontou? The name is nothing to me. The others?" He was leaning forward eagerly. I knew of what he was thinking—the quickest way to reach the Rue Coupejarrets.
"There are two others, Monsieur," I said slowly. "Young men—noble."
I looked at him. But no light whatever had broken in upon him.
"Their names, lad!"
Then, seeing him unsuspecting, the fury in my heart surged up and covered every other feeling. I burst out:
"Gervais de Grammont and the Comte de Mar."