“I think that I can trust yours,” retorted Gaston, holding out his hand.
“Monsieur le Duc . . .” stammered the young hussar, hesitating.
The keen eyes smiled at him. “My boy, do you think I don’t understand? Come, we have a journey to make in company. And your hands are clean—as I hope mine are.”
So, with a flush, Captain Guibert gripped his prisoner’s fingers for a second. And then old Bernard’s voice broke in on them. “Monseigneur,” it said at Gaston’s elbow, “you are fasting, and it is so cold outside! Will you not?” And he held out on a little tray a cup of coffee. But his hands shook so that the cup was clattering on its saucer.
“Monsieur Bernard, you are my good angel,” said Gaston gaily, as he took it from him. “I hope M. le Capitaine was as fortunate before he set out—so much earlier, too, than I am to do.”
He drank down the hot coffee and set the empty cup on the table in significant proximity to his purse, which he had already placed there for the old gaoler. But Bernard, sniffing, shuffled out before he could take farewell of him.
“Poor Bernard is too tenderhearted for his post,” observed his prisoner. “The sooner he is quit of us the better.—I follow you, Monsieur.”
(3)
A guard of dismounted hussars was awaiting them at the foot of the Tower.
“I have a carriage for you, Monsieur le Duc,” explained Captain Guibert half apologetically, as, on a sign from him, his men fell in behind him and his prisoner, “but it is in the courtyard of the Palace, for as you know, it is impossible for a vehicle to be brought any nearer.”