“Let it be the début, then! Perhaps she will fail, and that will amuse me.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And, by the way, François, did you see anything of a large envelope, a buff-colored envelope, I thought I left in my secretary?”
“No, my lord.” But François became just a shade paler.
“It is strange,” said the marquis, half to himself, “what could have become of it! I destroyed other papers, but not that. You are sure, François, you did not steal it?”
By this time the servant’s knees began to tremble, 325 and, had the marquis’ eyesight been better, he could not have failed to detect the other’s agitation. But the valet assumed a bold front, as he asked:
“Why should I have stolen it?”
“True, why?” grumbled the marquis. “It would be of no service to you. No; you didn’t take it. I believe you honest––in this case!”
“Thank you, my lord!”
“After all, what does it matter?” muttered the nobleman to himself. “What’s in a good name to-day––with traitors within and traitors without? ’Tis love’s labor lost to have protected it! We’ve fostered a military nest of traitors. The scorpions will be faithful to nothing but their own ends. They’ll fight for any master.”