"You must not go alone, monsieur," said Adamas. "How can we be sure that this indisposition is not feigned, and that the knave has not laid some trap for you, being warned by his conscience?"
"You are talking nonsense, my dear Adamas. Even if he killed my brother, he certainly never knew his name, since he remains under my roof without uneasiness."
"But look at this dagger, my dear master! You have not yet looked at this proof."
"Alas!" said Bois-Doré, "do you think that I can examine it dispassionately?"
Lucilio advised the marquis to see his guest before pursuing his investigations, so that he might be sure of being calm enough to conceal his suspicions.
Adamas allowed the marquis to go; but he glided close on his heels to the door of the Spaniard's apartment.
D'Alvimar was really ill. He was subject to nervous sick-headaches of great violence, which were often brought on by paroxysms of anger, and he had had more than one of the latter in the course of the day.
He thanked the marquis for his solicitude and begged him not to put himself out on his account. He needed nothing more than careful diet, silence and rest until the following day.
Bois-Doré withdrew, telling Bellinde, without obtruding, to see to it that his guest lacked nothing; and he took advantage of this visit to examine the features of old Sancho, to whom he had previously paid no attention.
The former swineherd, tall, lean and sallow, but wiry and muscular, was sitting in a deep window-recess, reading by the last rays of daylight a religious book from which he never parted, and which he did not understand. To spell out with his lips the words in that book and to tell his beads mechanically, such was his principal occupation, and, apparently, his only pleasure!