“We only want to rest a little,” said Château-Foix. “I can pay——”
“No! no!” reiterated the old woman, and it seemed to Gilbert that there was an unaccountable anxiety in her tone. “I tell you that you cannot come in!” And she made to shut the door, which she had opened but a little way.
But the Marquis was not in a mood to be easily rebuffed, and he planted his foot on the threshold in such a manner as to make the closing of the door impossible, and threw a hasty look within. As the inner darkness cleared from under the low, black beams he made out the figure of a man sitting, with his back to the door, on a stool by the hearth. The sight of this back, in a brown redingote, gave him pause; he did not wish to encounter a possible municipal officer from Laval. As he hesitated, the old woman, trying to shut the door, gave vent to an impatient exclamation, and the man by the fire looked round.
“Do not be so inhospitable, Barbette,” he said, in pleasant and noticeably well-bred tones.
Gilbert would have drawn back, but, with Louis clinging blindly to his shoulder, the thing could not be done quickly enough, and the stranger was on his feet and coming towards them. He was a man about forty.
“Your friend is ill, sir? Barbette, open the door! Permit me to assist you,” said the easy, commanding voice.
The sound of it roused the Vicomte for a second. “I am merely tired,” he murmured, trying to stand clear of Gilbert’s encircling arm.
“He had a fall from his horse some days ago and injured his shoulder,” explained the Marquis carefully, seeing the stranger’s swift glance at Louis’ arm as he moved to the other side to help him. Between them they steered the young man’s stumbling steps to the settle by the hearth, into the corner of which Saint-Ermay subsided, his head against the high back.
The other bent quickly over him. “He has fainted, I think,” he observed. “And with some cause. The fall must have been a deuced awkward one!” And holding out his own hand, smeared with red where he had held Louis by the elbow, he looked Château-Foix full in the face.
The Marquis bit his lip and silently cursed his incriminating lie. No use to deny a knife-wound now. Without a word he turned away and began to unfasten the ancient garment by which Madame Geffroi had replaced his cousin’s coat, too stained and slashed to wear.