“Do you wish to fly the country?”
“I must fly, father, and instantly; I am pursued, the police may be here at any moment. I have killed two men.”
The marquis was so shocked that he forgot the gout, and attempted to rise; a violent twinge made him drop back in his chair.
“Where? When?” he gasped.
“At Tarascon, in a cafe, an hour ago; fifteen men attacked me, and I seized a knife to defend myself.”
“The old tricks of ‘93,” said the marquis. “Did they insult you, Gaston? What was the cause of the attack?”
“They insulted in my presence the name of a noble young girl.”
“And you punished the rascals? Jarnibleu! You did well. Who ever heard of a gentleman allowing insolent puppies to speak disrespectfully of a lady of quality in his presence? But who was the lady you defended?”
“Mlle. Valentine de la Verberie.”
“What!” cried the marquis, “what! the daughter of that old witch! Those accursed de la Verberies have always brought misfortune upon us.”