“The Count de Cavannes, father to this young lady,” said the General, with a wave of his hand toward Mademoiselle.
“And, excuse me, does he hold a commission in your forces?”
“That is a question, baron, I can not in honor answer,” said the other, gravely. “He is a true friend to our cause, I will say.”
“Eh, mon Dieu, it is explained, then,” muttered the baron. “He is an agent of the Secret Service.”
Schuyler smiled but made no answer, and after fidgeting for some minutes, the baron resumed:
“Will you excuse one more question?”
“Certainly, baron. If I can answer, I will.”
“The count, is he a—well, a conjuror.”
“I can answer that,” interposed Diana, who had listened to the colloquy with an amused smile. “My father was a member of the French Academy of Sciences, baron, and a pupil of the great Cagliostro himself. Have you seen him before, that you ask?”
“Mon Dieu, Mademoiselle, I should think I had. Did he not enter the quarters of Burgoyne himself in spite of his sentries and frighten us all out of our senses, in the likeness of the king of evil himself?”