“None whatever, monsieur,” I answered, smiling, for I liked the hearty good humor of the man, and perceived that my liking was returned.
“M. de Brancas,” he continued, “allow me to present my friend the Marquis d’Ancenis, captain of the guards. I was just relating to him the details of your leap into the Seine.”
“In faith, ’twas worth relating,” declared d’Ancenis, warmly. “I know no other man who could have done it so neatly, monsieur.”
I bowed my thanks.
“It was really nothing,” I protested, “and after all accomplished nothing, since the friend whom I wished to rescue is at this moment in the Bastille.”
“Ah, well, one cannot accomplish miracles, monsieur,” said d’Ancenis, and I looked with pleasure at his smiling face, which reminded me of Richelieu. “Do you know, you have become famous during your brief residence in Paris. Only last night I heard a handsome woman discoursing on your many feats.”
My heart leaped within me.
“And may I ask the lady’s name, monsieur?” I stammered.
“’Twas Madame du Maine,” said d’Ancenis, and my heart sank again, for I had hoped to hear another name. “We had a little dinner together with half a dozen others, and the duchess was the life of it. She is a wonderful woman, only I fancied last night that she was looking careworn.”
I thought to myself that if he knew what I knew he would not wonder that she looked careworn.