"Most interesting," exclaimed the bishop, "but your father, Monsieur St. Georges. Who was he? Of the St. Georges's family, perhaps, of Auvergne! Or another branch, of Dauphiné! A noble family is that of St. Georges!"
"He was of the branch in Auvergne. A humble member, but still of it. I know no more."
"No more?"
"No."
"Humph! Strange! Pardon me, monsieur, I would not ask a delicate question—but—but—did not the family recognise the marriage of Monsieur St. Georges?"
"They did not recognise it for the simple reason that they were never told of it. It did not please my father to divulge the marriage to his family, so they were left in ignorance that it had ever taken place."
"And was Monsieur St. Georges—your father—a soldier like yourself?"
"He was a soldier like myself. And served against Condé."
"Against Condé. Under Turenne, doubtless?" and once more he cast a sidelong glance at his visitor.
"Yes. Under Turenne. They were, I have heard, more than commander and subordinate. They were friends."