"I dare say." The vicomte let his gaze fall till the spider came within vision. He put a finger under it, and the insect began to climb frantically toward its web.
"Thus, you see there will be no duel between you and the Chevalier."
The vicomte turned and looked out of the window; moonlight and glooms and falling leaves. He remained there for some time. Brother Jacques waited patiently to learn the vicomte's determination. He was curious, too, to test this man's core. Was it rotten, or hard and sound? There was villainy, but of what kind? The helpless villainy of a Nero, or the calculating villainy of a Tiberius? When the vicomte presented his countenance to Brother Jacques, it had undergone a change. It was masked with humility; all the haughtiness was gone. He plucked nervously at his chin.
"I will confess to you," he said simply.
"To me?" Brother Jacques recoiled. "Let me call Father Chaumonot."
"To you or to no one."
"Give me a moment to think." Brother Jacques was secretly pleased to have tamed this spirit.
"To you or to no one," repeated the vicomte. "Do you believe in the holiness and sacredness of your office?"
"As I believe in God," devoutly. Fervor had at once elevated Brother Jacques's priestly mind above earthly cunning.
"You will hear my confession?"