‘Peste!’ muttered he angrily. ‘Methinks you gentlemen of the Garde du Corps have little other idea of duty than in plotting how to evade it. It was De Courcel’s night of duty, was it not?’
‘Yes, sir; I took it in his place.’
‘Who relieves you?’
‘The Chevalier de Monteroue, sir.’
‘You are l’Écossais—at least they call you so, eh?’
‘Yes, Monseigneur, they call me so,’ said Gerald, flushing.
The Prince hesitated, turned to speak, and then moved away again. It was evident that he laboured under some irresolution that he could not master.
Resolved not to lose an opportunity so little likely to recur, Gerald advanced toward him, and, with an air of deep respect, said: ‘If I might dare to approach your Royal Highness on such a pretext, I would say that some tidings of deepest moment have been brought this evening by an officer from Paris, charged to deliver them to the king; and that he yet waits unable to see his Majesty.’
‘How—what—why has he not sent up his despatches?’
‘He had none, sir; he was the bearer of a verbal message from the Duc de Bassompierre.’