“Who are you?” he demanded, when at length he found his voice. He spoke English well enough, though with a somewhat foreign accent.
“Permit me to explain,” I answered, turning to the lady, though still keeping a watchful eye upon the man before me. I now had leisure to observe her more closely. She was young, not more than twenty years of age, as I judged, and her gown of pink brocade served to display the slimness of her figure. A fair face, surrounded by its mass of flaxen curls, but one scarcely deserving the high praises that Cornet Graham had sung in my ears upon the road. As the thought of them recurred to me, I could barely repress a smile. I had seen many women more beautiful. “Do I address the Lady Lettice Ingram?” I said, doffing my hat.
“She is my sister,” she replied slowly. Her eyes were still dark with fear. In a moment I was minded of the steward’s words. I told myself that this was the Mistress Grace that he had mentioned.
“Madam,” I made haste to answer, “I beg that you will not be alarmed at this intrusion, which the exigencies of my errand alone warranted. My business is with this gentleman,” I continued, indicating the Frenchman, who stood, one white hand laid upon the hilt of his rapier. “M. de Launay, I am charged with your arrest by order of Sir Richard Danvers, governor of the west during his Majesty’s absence in Ireland.”
“Pest!” he said coolly. “But if I am not the person you mention. What if you have made a mistake, monsieur?”
“No mistake, M. le Marquis,” I answered firmly, “as I am about to prove to you. Be good enough to carry your memory back some three years, and I think that you cannot have forgotten one Armand de Brissac and a certain duel in the Crown Tavern at Barcelona!”
For a moment he stared at me, a look of profound astonishment on his face.
“De Brissac? The Maître D’Armés?” he cried quickly.
“On that occasion,” I continued, “you staked somewhat heavily upon the issue and lost.”
“To poor D’Epernay, who fell at Walcourt. Certainly I remember the circumstances. But you—how is it that you?—I do not understand.” He looked at me more intently. “Pardieu!” he burst out, “I know you now! He was the finest swordsman in the French army, and you killed him in less than five minutes!”