Yeux-gris stared at him, neither in fear nor in fury, but in utter stupefaction.
"But Gervais? He plotted with you? But he hates you!"
We gaped at Lucas like yokels at a conjurer. He made us no answer but looked from one to the other of us with the alertness of an angry viper. We were two, but without swords. I knew he was thinking how easiest to end us both.
M. le Comte cried: "You! You come from Navarre's camp, from M. de Rosny!"
"Aye. I have outwitted more than one man."
"Mordieu! I was right to hate you!"
Lucas laughed. Yeux-gris blazed out:
"Traitor and thief! You stole the money. I said that from the first. You drove us from the house. How you and Grammont—"
"Came together? Very simple," Lucas answered with easy insolence. "Grammont did not love Monsieur, your honoured father. It was child's play to make an assignation with him and to lament the part forced on me by Monsieur. Grammont was ready enough to scent a scheme of M. le Duc's to ruin him. He had said as much to Monsieur, as you may deign to remember."
"Aye," said M. le Comte, still like a puzzled child, "he was angry with my father. But afterward he changed his mind. He knew it was you, and only you."