“My honor?” he repeated. “I do not understand, Mademoiselle. What is this riddle?”
She looked at her uncle over her shoulder, and something in her eyes brought him forward. But his face was livid—plainly, he did not relish this bearding of the lion.
“Permit me to explain, M. le Duc,” he said. “You will remember that I told you of the attack upon me at Montauban, which would inevitably have secured from me certain papers but for the assistance which came to me opportunely.”
Roquefort nodded grimly.
“I remember,” he said. “Go on.”
“Well, M. le Duc, I did not tell you the name of our rescuer, not thinking that it would interest you and not knowing at the time that he was a prisoner. It was not until Claire came to me just now and told me that I knew. Then I hastened here, that you also might know. M. le Duc, the man who saved your papers lies there on the rack before you!”
Roquefort stared at him a moment and then down on me.
“This fellow!” he stammered, as though not believing his ears. “But he is one of Cadillac’s men!”
“He saved us,” said Brissac quickly, “not asking which side we served—seeing only that we were in deadly peril.”
“And that the girl was pretty,” added the other, glancing at her keenly. “I can read the story—it is an old one among you Gascons.”