Pasdeloup cleared his throat gruffly.
“Citizen Goujon has the audacity to love Madame la Comtesse,” he said finally.
M. le Comte burst into a laugh.
“Any fool may worship a star,” he said. “He cannot drag it down to him.”
“Goujon is trying to drag this one down, monsieur,” added Pasdeloup quietly, “as he tried once before. This time he believes that success is certain.”
M. le Comte grew suddenly sober.
“‘As he tried once before?’” he repeated. “Your meaning, Pasdeloup?”
“Ah, monsieur,” answered Pasdeloup, with a gesture indicating that the matter had been taken out of his hands, “it was not by mistake that Goujon entered that attic three years ago. That girl to whom you would not listen—terror had frightened her into the truth. For that attic extended also above the apartment of madame. He had fashioned a hole in the ceiling; he had even planned to descend some night when you were absent....”
“Ah, if I had known!” cried his master hoarsely. “If I had known! But how do you know all this, Pasdeloup?” he demanded, turning upon the other fiercely, a sudden red suspicion in his eyes.
“Goujon himself told me,” replied Pasdeloup calmly, “two nights ago at Dange, when he had drunk too much wine. Shall I continue the story, monsieur, or have you heard enough?”