“I feel very uneasy about you,” observed the Marquis, as Saint-Ermay deposited a valise on the floor of Gilbert’s room. “I know that you will never be able to keep up this servant role.”
“Shall I not?” asked Louis, with a certain boyish enjoyment. “You will see, Monsieur le Marquis. I shall soon be asking for higher wages, especially if your valise gets any heavier. Are we going to have anything to eat?”
“I shall have some supper served up here,” said Gilbert, looking worried. “But will it not seem strange if you have yours with me?”
“Very,” said the Vicomte, who was evidently pining to play his part elsewhere. “I must have mine downstairs. Am I to engage myself a room?”
“I would rather have you on a truckle-bed in here,” returned his kinsman apprehensively. “Ask them if they have one.”
“All right,” said Louis cheerfully. “I’ll say that you are subject to fits, or melancholia, or walk in your sleep. Au revoir!”
He went out, and did not reappear for so long that the Marquis, after his supper, rang and asked for his valet, only to be told that he had gone out some time ago, and that there were some strolling players in the town, whose performance he was no doubt witnessing. When he at last came back Château-Foix fell upon him.
“For God’s sake, Louis, don’t treat this affair as a jest. You ought never to have left the inn——”
“And have people suggesting that we have a reason for lying low? That’s not my idea of prudent conduct,” retorted his cousin, unabashed. “I have been witnessing that noble play, Le Patriotisme recompensé, ou l’Arrivée à Paris des Sauveurs de la Patrie—in fact, I am not sure that after heartily applauding the artist who acted Drouet I did not join in the Ça ira. It will be an inconceivable protection to you, Gilbert, to have a valet of known Republican principles.”
“I dare say it might, if there were the slightest chance of your remembering them,” said Gilbert gloomily. “Well, there’s no use arguing with you. Let’s get to bed, for we must start early to-morrow.”