“And where is this lady, may I ask?” inquired the voice in an anxious tone.
“In the corner there, and I doubt not in great need of attention. But I am growing weary of this questioning, monsieur,” and I made another step towards the door.
“One question more,” said the man. “Did you accompany the lady hither?”
“Yes,” I answered, without hesitation.
“Then everything is as it should be,” he cried, “and you have rendered me a great service. Come, put down your sword as I put up my pistols. It was I whom the lady came to see. You will believe this when I tell you that she is Mlle. de Launay and that she comes from Madame du Maine,” and as he spoke he entered the room, his pistols in his belt. I saw him to be a man between fifty and sixty years of age, with a soldierly carriage and haughty bearing which the dark cloak he wore could not conceal. I was not surprised, therefore, when he threw off his cloak and disclosed beneath it a handsome cavalier’s dress. His moustache, which described a straight line across his upper lip, was slightly tinged with gray, and from the darkness of his skin and the fire in his eyes I judged him to be a Spaniard or Italian.
“The devil,” I thought, “have I stumbled into another love-affair? It seems to me that I have enough on my hands already,” but I continued my survey of the new-comer without saying a word.
“Come, monsieur,” he said, with a smile, “it is evident that you do not know me. Before I can tell you who I am I must ask you one other question. You are, perhaps, acquainted with certain plans of Madame du Maine?”
“Perhaps,” I answered.
“And you were aware that Mlle. de Launay was to leave some papers here?”
“Yes, monsieur.”