The music which helped to produce the tranquillity that he needed, now caused a feverish excitement in D'Alvimar.
He really hated Lucilio. He knew his baptismal name, which the marquis had let fall in his presence, and Monsieur Poulain, who was thoroughly posted in contemporary heresy, had divined from that circumstance that Jovelin was a free translation of Giovellino. The fact of his mutilation confirmed him in that suspicion, and he was already deliberating upon the means of making perfectly sure, and of stirring up some new persecution against him.
D'Alvimar would readily have assisted him, if he had not been forced to keep out of sight for some time, and the poor philosopher was the more antipathetic to him because he could take no steps against him at present. His beautiful music, by which he had been charmed at the first hearing, seemed to him now intolerable bravado, and the ill-humor which took possession of him did not dispose him to undergo patiently the examination that was being prepared for him.
After the supper the marquis proposed a game of chess in the boudoir adjoining his salon.
"I agree," the Spaniard replied, "on condition that we have no music there. I cannot play with that to distract my attention."
"Nor I, most certainly," said the marquis.—"Put your sweet voice away in its box, good Master Jovelin, and come to watch our peaceful battle. I know that you enjoy a well-fought game."
They went into the boudoir, and found there a magnificent chess-board of crystal with gold mountings, comfortable chairs, and many lighted candles.
D'Alvimar had not as yet seen that small room, one of the most sumptuous in the grand'maison; he cast a distraught glance at the trinkets with which it was filled, then sat down, and the game began.
[XXVIII]
The marquis, exceedingly calm and courteous, seemed to give his whole attention to his game. Lucilio, standing behind him, was able to watch the slightest movement, the slightest change of expression on the Spaniard's face, which was in a bright light.