“Tonnerre de diable! how is that?” exclaimed Augustine Vadier starting up, his one orb flashing with excitement. “Who betrayed me?”
“It’s deuced little consequence,” said Gramont, “because Plessis is not likely to make any advantage of his discovery. He used it against me, though, for he insinuated that I was your accomplice.”
“But who betrayed my retreat?” again demanded Augustine Vadier. “If the government knew I was here, or any where in France, they would have my head.”
“It’s only three parts of a head now,” replied his companion, with one of his sneering laughs. “But make yourself easy, they do not want heads; they would be content to send you to Cayenne; it’s a hot place, but——”
“Take care, Bertram Gramont,” interrupted the ci-devant galley slave, “that you do not carry your cursed propensity for joking too far; if I make a journey to Cayenne, it’s not unlikely but that you would keep me company.”
Bertram Gramont laughed outright.
“Diable! you are sensitive, mon ami. If I should have to keep you company we should still row in the same boat; come, come, be sensible.”
Augustine Vadier swallowed his ire, and again demanded how Jean Plessis had obtained his information about him.
“Through our own folly,” said Gramont. “I thought myself so secure in my projects, that it slipped my memory how unwise it was to turn that rascal Antoine Dubois out of my service, drunken and impudent as he was.”
“Antoine Dubois!” repeated Vadier, with intense surprise; “how did that villain find out my real name?”