"Oh, nonsense!" cried Markeld. "What reason could he have for assuming illness? That would be childish!"
The Frenchman smiled a self-satisfied smile, as he softly caressed his imperial, and his little eyes glowed with anticipated triumph.
"Let us deal with the facts first, if Your Highness will permit, and with reasons afterwards. I was, then, standing by the chair in the attitude which I have described, when your dog appeared and attacked the spaniel. As the young lady stooped and picked it up, your dog sprang against her, frightening her so that she cried aloud."
"And you stood by without offering to assist her?" demanded the Prince, with some indignation.
"There was no need, Your Highness," responded Tellier, easily. "In the first place, she was, of course, in no real danger. In the second place, I perceived instantly that fate was playing into my hands. In fact, the incident could not have been more à propos if it had been arranged by my guardian angel. For from the chair beside which I was stationed a man sprang out and kicked the dog away. Your Highness must have remarked his agility and strength—may even have seen his face."
"No," said the Prince. "I was not near enough to see it distinctly."
"I saw it, Your Highness, very distinctly, and I assure you that it was that of a man in the full enjoyment of health. Even from his agility, Your Highness could doubtless judge whether the man was seriously ill."
The Prince hitched about in his chair a little impatiently. He was beginning to find the Frenchman tedious.
"Most certainly he was not seriously ill," he agreed; "nor, I should say, even slightly so. What is that to me? Pray have done with this mystery!"
Tellier's face was glowing with all a Frenchman's pride in a coup de théâtre—his moment of triumph had arrived.