"Pardon, monseigneur," one of the attendants here put in,—"but what shall we do with this Achon?"
The Marquis slightly turned his head, his hand still grasping John
Bulmer's. "Why, hang him, of course," he said. "Did I forget to tell you?
But yes, take him out, and have him confessed by Frère Joseph, and hang him
at once." The four men removed their prisoner.
"You find us in the act of dispensing justice," the Marquis continued, "yet at Bellegarde we temper it with mercy, so that I shall ask no indiscreet questions concerning your absence of last night."
"But I, monsieur," said John Bulmer, "I, too, have come to demand justice."
"Tête-bleu, Mr. Bulmer! and what can I have the joy of doing for you in that respect?"
"You can restore to me my wife."
And now de Soyecourt cast a smile toward the Duchess, who appeared troubled. "Would you not have known this was an Englishman," he queried, "by the avowed desire for the society of his own wife? They are a mad race. And indeed, Mr. Bulmer, I would very gladly restore to you this hitherto unheard-of spouse if but I were blest with her acquaintance. As it is—" He waved his hand.
"I married her only yesterday," said John Bulmer, "and I have reason to believe that she is now within Bellegarde."
He saw the eyes of de Soyecourt slowly narrow. "Jacques," said the Marquis, "fetch me the pistol within that cabinet." The Marquis resumed his seat to the rear of the table, the weapon lying before him. "You may go now, Jacques; this gentleman and I are about to hold a little private conversation." Then, when the door had closed upon the lackey, de Soyecourt said, "Pray draw up a chair within just ten feet of this table, monsieur, and oblige me with your wife's maiden name."
"She was formerly known," John Bulmer answered, "as Mademoiselle Claire de
Puysange."