"I think not, sir," replied Jean Charost; "for I desire no change in my condition at the present moment. As to myself, all that I have to say--all, indeed, that I intend to say, is, that my name, as I told you, is Jean Charost, Seigneur De Brecy; that my father fought and died in the service of his country; and that I am his only child; but still most happy to have rendered you any service, however inconsiderable."
The other listened in profound silence, with his eyes bent upon the table, and without the slightest variation of expression crossing his countenance.
"You talk well, young gentleman," he said, "and are discreet, I see. Do you happen to guess to whom you are speaking?"
"Not in the least," replied Jean Charost. "I can easily judge, sir, indeed, that I am speaking to no ordinary man--to one accustomed to command and be obeyed; who may be offended, perhaps, at my plain dealing, and think it want of reverence for his person that I speak not more frankly. Such, however, is not the case, and assuredly I can in no degree divine who you are. You may be the King of Sicily, who, I have been told, is traveling in this direction. The Duke de Berri, I know you are not; for I have seen him very lately. I am inclined to think, from the description of his person, however, that you may be the Count of St. Paul."
The other smiled, gravely, and then replied, "The first ten steps you take from this door after supper, you will know; for the greatest folly any man commits, is to believe that a secret will be kept which is known to more than one person. But for the next hour we will forget all such things. Make yourself at ease: frankness never displeases me: discretion, even against myself, always pleases me. Now let us talk of other matters. I have gained an appetite, by-the-way, and am wondering what they will give me for supper. I will bet you a link of this gold chain against that little ring upon your finger, that we have lark pies, and wine of Gatinois; for, on my life and soul, I know nothing else that Pithiviers is famous for--except blankets; odds, my life, I forgot blankets, and this is not weather to forget them. Prythee, throw a log on the fire, boy, and let us make ourselves as warm as two old Flemish women on Martinmas eve. But here comes the supper."
He was not right, however. It was the same attendant whom Jean Charost had before seen, that now returned and whispered a word or two in his lord's ear.
"Ha!" said the stranger, starting up "Who is with her? Our good friend?"
"No," replied the other. "He has gone on, for a couple of days, to Blois, and she has no one with her but a young lady and the varletry."
"Beseech her to come in and partake our humble meal," cried the other, in a gay tone. "Tell her I have a young guest to sup with me, who will entertain her young companion while I do my devoir; toward herself. But tell her we lay aside state, and that she condescends to sup with plain John of Valois. Ah, my young friend! you have it now, have you?" he continued, looking shrewdly at Jean Charost, who had fallen into a fit of thought. "Well--well, let no knowledge spoil merriment. We will be gay to-night, whatever comes to-morrow."
Almost as he spoke, the door was again thrown open, and fair Madame De Giac entered, followed by the young girl whom Jean Charost had seen at Juvisy.