“Is M. le Comte de Cadillac a second Pharaoh,” I asked, “that he should slay his messengers? Had I known that, I had made less haste from Marsan in his service.”
Letourge had recovered his self-control, but I saw that his hands were trembling.
“From Marsan?” he repeated. “And when came you from Marsan?”
“An hour ago,” I answered.
“And you have a message?”
“Yes, Monsieur.”
“You lie!” he cried. “You must think our memories marvellous short! M. le Comte does not slay messengers, but he hangs spies. Do you not already feel the rope about your neck?”
I looked into his eyes and saw he was in earnest. What could the man mean? I realized that I had need to keep my wits about me.
“Monsieur,” I said, with what calmness I could muster, “you have used words to me which you will some day regret. I am Paul de Marsan and no spy. We of Marsan have been liege to Cadillac for two hundred years and have always aided them to fight their battles. I come to warn M. le Comte of a great danger which threatens him, but seem to have fallen into a nest of madmen.”
Letourge looked at me with working lips.