I caught d’Aurilly’s eyes on mine, and my heart grew hot with hate as I marked the sneer on his lips.
“What hath been stolen?” demanded M. le Comte impatiently. “No tricks, M. de Marsan!”
I clinched my hands to still their trembling, until the blood started beneath the nails.
“M. le Comte,” I began, “hear me to the end. I came to Montauban from Marsan as fast as horse could carry me that I might place in your hand a message which concerns you deeply. You know what my reception was, but you do not know that after I had been thrown into yonder dungeon some one crept upon me while I slept and tore the message from me. See, here is where I carried it. You have a traitor in your house, Monsieur!”
His face was red, and I could hear the stir in the circle of men-at-arms behind me. Only d’Aurilly laughed harshly.
“A pretty story!” he cried. “A brazen lie! Does not your patience near an end, M. le Comte?”
But I looked only at my master. Surely he must see that I spoke truth!
“M. le Comte will remember,” I concluded, “that I told him of this message in his sleeping-room, but he would not hear me out. The one who robbed me must have known I carried it, yet I told no one save yourself, the sentry at the outer door, M. Letourge, and—the Vicomte d’Aurilly.”
I was looking full at d’Aurilly now, and I think he read the meaning of my look, for his face went white, and I could see his hand gripping his sword-hilt. And in that instant I knew who the traitor was!
“Good God, M. le Comte!” he burst out, “do you permit us to be insulted by this scoundrel?”