“My orders are precise, Mademoiselle de Nançay,” he said, “and I am forced to post my men around the house; but I shall leave none within it, that your privacy may be uninterrupted.”
“Your consideration is appreciated, monsieur,” she replied, in a mocking tone; “as long as I cannot leave my cage, I may do what I please within it! But alas! I am sorry for your varlets when M. de Nançay returns.”
Péron made no reply; he thought instead of the marquis in the hands of Richelieu. He turned to leave the garden, but she was not yet done with him.
“Did you look under the beds, monsieur?” she asked lightly, “and up the kitchen chimney? Your occupation is noble, and you should neglect none of the details!”
“Mademoiselle,” Péron replied gravely, “I got to the chimney too late.”
She understood him, and a gleam of mischief leaped into her dark eyes; but she bit her lip and was silent. She would not jest with her inferior.
He turned again toward the gate, but something in her last speech stung him; he faced about once more.
“Mademoiselle,” he said haughtily, “when I came here, I did not know that there were any women in the house. I was ordered to seize the papers in the name of the king; I obeyed, but my duty has been odious to me.”
She made no reply to this, but evidently it softened her mood, for she stood a moment looking at him and then took a step forward.
“Sir musketeer, I would ask you one question,” she said. “Where is my father?”