'He does, sire!'
'Yes—the Cardinal Duke de Lavalette, and your friend the Camp-Marechal Hepburn.'
'How—'
'With fifty thousand men.'
'Alas! my poor native province!'
'Such is our resolve.'
'And which way do they march?'
'By the road direct for the frontier, and Elsace Zaberne.'
Another glance, and most palpable nod of intelligence were exchanged between the Countess and the eavesdropper, whom I suspected to be her attendant.
'If this Duke of Lorraine had four heads, by the bones of St. Louis, I would spike them all on the gate of St. Marcel, beside that of the traitor Guy de Beaumanoir!'