Roussilac was not a man to tell ill-news gently. Wasting neither words nor sentiment, he replied: "Your brother died but recently of fever, calling upon your name with his last breath."
His final words were intended to show her that he had been by the sick man's side until the end.
Madeleine turned white and tottered. Then, as her strong heart recovered, she said:
"Let me call my mother. My father has long been dead. We have remained poor, Arnaud," she added defiantly. "But if you have ascended, we have at least not descended."
"To what higher pinnacle can a woman wish to attain than that of perfect beauty?" he replied gallantly; but he noticed that she left him with a frown.
"Had I but known that she had grown so fair!" he muttered.
Gaudriole was grinning at his side. The dwarf put up his red hand and showed his chief a dead butterfly, its bright plumage well-nigh worn away, its wings crushed and wet.
"Short-lived beauty, Excellency," he leered, with the jester's privilege. "Yesterday shining in the sun. To-day!" He laughed hoarsely and dropped the ruined insect. "'Tis a world of change and contrast," he chuckled. "Mark this philosophy, my captain. When old age sends me white hairs and a reverend aspect you shall perchance call me beautiful, if you look not too closely at my hump; but when the bloom of yonder beauteous lady turns to seed——"
"Off, Bossu!" cried Roussilac angrily. "Learn to turn your jesting with a better judgment, or your tongue shall be slit and your back whipped."
"My faith!" the dwarf chuckled. "I have no back. I am like the frog, but shoulders and legs."