Between five and six in the afternoon he again heard the voice of his hostess and went down.
“You can see your cousin,” said Madame Geffroi, with the air of one acceding to a pressing request, “since it appears that that is his relationship. He has been asking for you. And since they have been to search the house”—Gilbert gave an exclamation—“and gone away satisfied, it is quite safe. Come.”
“Searched the house!” said Gilbert, stupefied. “But they have not been near me.”
“I did not say they searched the house,” corrected the lady tartly. “I said they came to do so. They did not remain.”
“Oh!” was all Château-Foix found to say, wondering how the representatives of the nation had been routed, but not in the least doubting the fact.
“Don’t talk too much!” Madame Geffroi warned him, as she opened the bedroom door and pushed Gilbert in alone.
The late afternoon sun was striking through the closed shutters in thin shafts full of dancing motes, yet the room seemed dark, and the Marquis stood a moment dazzled by the contrast.
“Come here,” said Louis in a weak little voice from the bed. “Mon Dieu, how glad I am to see you!”
Grown accustomed to the atmospheric effects, Gilbert stood looking down on this new Louis as he lay flat on his back—for in the short time since his mishap he seemed unaccountably altered.
“Sit down,” went on the Vicomte, “and tell me what you have been doing while I have been in the hands of this tyrannical lady.”