"Not of me, I trust, my lord?" said Edward, somewhat mortified.
"No, not exactly of you," replied Montagu, thoughtfully, "but great doubts of that man. Do you know who he is?—or, rather, what he is?"
"I know nothing of him, my lord," replied the youth. "I never saw him or heard of him till last night."
"And yet he knew all about your having been wounded by your own brother. You will make even me believe in occult sciences," answered Montagu.
"That piece of knowledge is easily accounted for," said Edward. "He learned that from Lucette. She stayed at the abbey with Madame de Rohan as they passed, heard all my story from the good sisters, and, in her anxiety to write to me, suffered him to draw the facts from her."
"Oh, it was from Lucette, was it?" asked Montagu, with a smile. "Well, that explains all, and without any secrecy, if you are sure it is so."
"She speaks of it in her letter," answered Edward, "and blames herself for indiscretion. But your lordship asked me but now if I knew what Signor Morini is. What can he be but a well-read quack?"
"He is something more than that," replied Montagu, lowering his voice. "He is a most cunning intriguant. He is more than that. He is an agent of the Cardinal de Richelieu; and I could not be certain that the note you received last night did not contain strong inducements for you to betray me."
"He would be a bold man to offer them to me, my lord," replied Edward, warmly; "but there was nothing of the kind. The possibility of such a thing, however, forces me to do what nothing else would have induced me to think of,—namely, to show you the letter. There it is, my lord. In regard to all that concerns myself and the writer, I must beg you to ask me no questions. If there can be found in it any thing that affects your lordship, interrogate me, if you will; and I will answer all frankly."
Montagu looked at the address of the letter, and, perhaps, had some desire to see more; for where is the breast without some share of that small vice called curiosity? but he returned it unopened, saying, "I am quite satisfied, Ned. But you must understand: we are living in an age of intrigue. Each man is playing a game which has no laws. And in cases where the strong arm of power cannot reach—where no soldiers or sailors can be employed—friends, acquaintances, attendants, pages, must be gained to obtain this or that advantage for an adverse politician. You know not how widely this is practised,—how many devoted confidants of great men are also the confidants of their bitterest enemies,—what hosts of spies surround every man in eminent station. You know little of all this; but in France and Italy the evil system is carried further, deeper, lower than anywhere else; and it was very natural for me to suppose that this man, whom I know to be an emissary of Richelieu, should attempt to seduce you, and to find it hardly possible to suppose that when Richelieu had you wholly in his power he did not personally aim at the same object. The thought never struck me till last night; but then it flashed across my mind vividly, and would seem to explain how he let you go so easily."