Suddenly Louis opened his eyes and looked up straight at his visitor. “What was the real reason of your coming to Paris, Gilbert?” he asked abruptly.
“To stop you,” returned Château-Foix. “I did not know about the 20th until I had made up my mind to come.”
“To stop me—without real proof?”
“Yes.”
“The devil!” said Saint-Ermay.
There was another pause.
“I would give my right hand to have one,” said the Marquis, with a certain passion. “But I have only convictions, and those you won’t listen to.”
“If your convictions are right,” observed Louis reflectively, “it means that we are all Vergniaud’s dupes. That would be amusing. . . Perhaps . . . . perhaps . . . Convictions indeed! Deuce take me, but they must be strong to have brought you so far.”
“Yes, they are strong,” said the Marquis.
The Vicomte sat up in bed, hugging his knees. “Of course it is all guesswork. I wonder how I can most quickly get hold of D’Aubeville.” He paused and then broke out laughing. “I’lI tell them, but if you are right . . . we are gone too far for that to be of any use.”