“Well, Monsieur. General Saint-Prosper and my master were distant kinsmen and had adjoining lands.”
“Surely the marquis did not pass his time in the country?” observed Mauville.
“He preferred it to Paris––when my lady was there!” added François, softly.
In spite of his ill-humor, the shadow of a smile gleamed in the land baron’s gaze, and, encouraged by that questioning look, the man continued: “The marquis and General Saint-Prosper were always together. My lady had her own friends.”
“So I’ve heard,” commented the listener.
François’ discreet eyes were downcast. Why did the visitor wish to learn about the Saint-Prosper family? Why, instead of going, did he linger and eye the man half-dubiously? François had sold so many of his master’s secrets he scented his opportunities with a sixth sense.
“The marquis and General Saint-Prosper were warm friends?” asked the land baron at length.
“Yes, Monsieur; the death of the latter was a severe shock to the Marquis de Ligne, but, mon Dieu!”––lifting his eyes––“it was as well he did not live to witness the disgrace of his son.”
“His son’s disgrace,” repeated the land baron, eagerly. “Oh, you mean running in debt––gaming––some such fashionable virtue?”