“My views,” said Gilbert rather sombrely, “have something changed of late.”
“God be praised for that!” broke in a faint voice, and both men, starting, looked down at the quiet and momentarily forgotten figure on the settle. Louis’ eyes were shut, but his own mischievous smile played for an instant about his white lips. La Rouërie bent over him.
“My cousin may be an apothecary,” continued the Vicomte, opening his eyes, “but you are a better surgeon, Monsieur . . . le Marquis. Permit me to thank you with all my heart.”
“You heard?” ejaculated Gilbert.
“Indistinctly,” replied his cousin. “I am prepared not to have heard if Monsieur wishes.”
“Not in the least,” said La Rouërie quickly. “Yes, you may sit up if you wish. Do not try to stand yet. Barbette, where is my flask of brandy?”
“I will get mine,” said Gilbert, hastening to the door.
La Rouërie quitted Louis and came after him. “Barbette shall show you where to put the horses,” he said in a low voice. “You cannot possibly go on to-night.”
“But we cannot stay here,” protested Gilbert.
“On the contrary, you can perfectly well do so. You will probably kill that young man if you take him on to-night. Besides, I want a talk with you.”