“Nevertheless, I must fulfil my trust,” observed M. Chassin, looking across the table at M. de Kersaint’s lowered head.
“Oh, undoubtedly, Abbé, though I do not know how you are going to do it even with M. de Kersaint’s cousinly . . . is it cousinly? . . . assistance. What do you yourself think of the problem, Marquis?”
The Marquis de Kersaint raised his head. “I think,” he said slowly, looking hard at M. Chassin, “that the Abbé is right. M. de Trélan must be informed, somehow. But at the same time, since it is practically out of the question for him, in exile, to take any steps in the matter—and would be difficult and dangerous even were he in France—and since our need for money is so pressing at this moment, I would propose——”
“What?” asked the Comte.
“To ask, as his kinsman, for his authorisation to use the treasure, if we can come at it, for the needs of Finistère—that is to say, for the King’s service.”
“O sir, do you think we could!” cried Roland eagerly, starting forward.
“O, Monsieur le Marquis, send us to Mirabel!” cried Artamène.
“You are going too fast, gentlemen. We must first get the Duc’s leave to pillage his property, even though it be confiscated.”
“Do you think you will have difficulty in getting it?” asked the Comte de Brencourt, narrowing his eyes.
“No, I do not think so. As you have yourself pointed out, Comte, how is M. de Trélan going to profit, in any case, by this suddenly revealed hoard?”