The Duke, dumfounded, though he preserved an outward calm, could not answer for an instant. Then with a triumphant, vindictive smile which puckered his yellow cheeks like a wild apple, he said:
“The Comte de Tournay is welcome to behold an end of the ambitions of the Vaufontaines.” He looked towards Philip with an exulting pride. “Monsieur le Comte is quite right,” he added, turning to his council—“he may always claim the privileges of a relative of the Bercys; but the hospitality goes not beyond my house and my presence, and monsieur le comte will understand my meaning.”
At that moment Detricand caught the eye of Damour the Intendant, and he understood perfectly. This man, the innkeeper had told him, was known to be a Revolutionary, and he felt he was in imminent danger.
He came nearer, however, bowing to all present, and, making no reply to the Duke save a simple, “I thank your Highness,” took a place near the council-table.
The short ceremony of signing the deeds immediately followed. A few formal questions were asked of Philip, to which he briefly replied, and afterwards he made the oath of allegiance to the Duke, with his hand upon the ancient sword of the d’Avranches. These preliminaries ended, the Duke was just stooping to put his pen to the paper for signature, when the Intendant, as much to annoy Philip as still to stay the proceedings against the coming of Fouche’s men, said:
“It would appear that one question has been omitted in the formalities of this Court.” He paused dramatically. He was only aiming a random shot; he would make the most of it.
The Duke looked up perturbed, and said sharply: “What is that—what is that, monsieur?”
“A form, monsieur le duc, a mere form. Monsieur”—he bowed towards Philip politely—“monsieur is not already married? There is no—” He paused again.
For an instant there was absolute stillness. Philip had felt his heart give one great thump of terror: Did the Intendant know anything? Did Detricand know anything.
Standing rigid for a moment, his pen poised, the Duke looked sharply at the Intendant and then still more sharply at Philip. The progress of that look had granted Philip an instant’s time to recover his composure. He was conscious that the Comtesse Chantavoine had given a little start, and then had become quite still and calm. Now her eyes were intently fixed upon him.