“His promises, like his verses, come ready made,” sneered De Gourgues. “Pah! he is without candor, this King;—without strength, without honor,—without anything that men hold most high.” M. de Gourgues was walking furiously up and down as one possessed.
“Sh——” said De Brésac.
“I care not,” said the wild Gascon. “’Tis better far to die, or to have no country. Spain insults the King and the King is dumb. The nobles about him are Italians in the Spanish interest. God save poor France from her rulers now and ever, say I.”
Then he sat down and unburthened himself of the object for which he had come to Paris.
“I am come,” he continued less wildly, “to ask you to help me avenge this wrong—to raise again the Standard of France from where it has been trailing in the mud by Spanish feet.”
So rapid and fiery had been his speech that I could not get the exact purport of his words. How he, a simple country gentleman, could hope to embark upon so large a venture without King’s aid or commission was more than I could readily comprehend. Nor was De Brésac in any better understanding. “But, monsieur,” he began, “if there were any——”
“Ah, Brésac,” he cut in, “you do not trust me. You think I will not do as I say. As you will—I tell you, I will destroy this Fort San Mateo if it takes every crown and acre in Mont-de-Marsan!”
“Forgive me, Chevalier, I am but a slow thinker. I am with you if you will but give me half an earful of your plans.”
“You will go?”
“With all my heart.”