"No, Philip, no," replied St. Real, in a tone of firm determination, "I will not; I love Eugenie de Menancourt too well myself, to cheat her with promises made in so light a tone as that. Nay, frown not on me, Philip d'Aubin, for you shall hear more, that you may never say your cousin deceived you. I refuse to go back to Eugenie to plead your cause, not alone because I believe it to be both a bad and a hopeless one, but, because I feel that it would be dangerous to my own peace; and might make me unhappy without serving you."
"Ho, ho!" cried D'Aubin, his brow darkening, "is such the case? Then I see somewhat more clearly how all this may end!"
"I trust you do," replied St. Real; "I trust from my conduct through life, and from my conduct now, that you may plainly see what will be that conduct still."
D'Aubin's lip curled into a cold, unpleasant smile; but his brow did not relax, and he answered, "What your conduct may be, like all future things, must be left to fate; but I shall certainly take means to ensure myself against what it seems it might be. I give you good evening, Huon, for I find it time to bestir myself! Farewell!"
So saying, he turned upon his heel, and left the apartment. At the foot of the stairs he paused for a moment to speak a few eager words with the dwarf Bartholo, and then springing on his horse galloped back to his own abode.
CHAPTER XVII.
Leaving St. Real to meditate over the effects which his candour and honesty had produced, and to strengthen himself in his integrity against the bitterness of undeserved suspicion and reproach, we must follow the Count d'Aubin to his dwelling, and be his companion for the next few hours. Springing from his charger, he threw the reins to one of his attendants, ordered fresh horses to be saddled in the stable, a change of dress to be instantly brought him, and eagerly demanded if no packet had arrived from Paris. The answer was in the negative; but still the count proceeded to change his dress, apparelling himself with no small care and splendour, brushing the dust from his dark curling locks, and adding the fine essences that were then held a part even of the simplest toilet. Ere he had done, there was a sharp knock at the door of his chamber, and the next moment the dwarf Bartholo stole in, bearing a packet in his hand.
"I saw the messenger straying about the town," he said, "and knowing you would want this, I hastened to bring it hither."
"You see into my thoughts, and anticipate my wishes, good Bartholo," replied D'Aubin, breaking open the packet, and running his eye over the words of a regular safe-conduct from the Duke of Mayenne. "It is all right," he added, "though they limit me to four and twenty hours; but say, have you aught to tell me, Bartholo; for the day wears, and I am ready to set out. There seems matter in that face of thine. Speak, man! speak boldly. We know each other well."
"Your lordship is kind," replied the dwarf, with one of his sardonic grins. "I would fain give your lordship a piece of advice; but knowing from sweet experience how advice is relished in this wise world, I wish to know whether you have any appetite for it?"