“Do you know, M. de Marsan,” he said suddenly, “I was quite moved by that little tale of yours. I was certain that M. le Comte could not doubt it.”
“Thank you, Monsieur,” I answered. “I mean to prove that it is true.”
“And I am sure you will succeed,” he said heartily. “But, my faith, how unfortunate it was that you should happen along the Rue Gogard just when you did! A moment earlier or later, and M. le Comte would perhaps be in position to bring the Duc de Roquefort to his knees. Small wonder he was vexed with you—more especially since he received that hideous scar across the face, which will stay with him always.”
“I regret that I was such a marplot,” I said, “but I could not well do other than I did. When a woman asks for aid——”
“And a young and pretty woman, was she not, Marsan?” queried my companion, smiling at me broadly.
“Yes,” I admitted, “young and pretty. Do you know her, Monsieur?”
He smiled more broadly still.
“I think I can guess. Did you not hear her name?”
“The man who was with her called her Claire.”
He nodded.