“Good,” said Garnache, reassured. “I hear their steps upon the stairs. They must not find me with you.”
A moment later the door opened, and Marius, very bravely arrayed, entered the room, followed closely by Fortunio. Neither showed much ill effects of last night’s happenings, save for a long dark-brown scar that ran athwart the captain’s cheek, where Garnache’s sword had ploughed it.
They found Florimond seated quietly at table, and as they entered he rose and came forward with a friendly smile to greet his brother. His sense of humour was being excited; he was something of an actor, and the role he had adopted in the comedy to be played gave him a certain grim satisfaction. He would test for himself the truth of what Monsieur de Garnache had told him concerning his brother’s intentions. Marius received his advances very coolly. He took his brother’s hand, submitted to his brother’s kiss; but neither kiss nor hand-pressure did he return. Florimond affected not to notice this.
“You are well, my dear Marius, I hope,” said he, and thrusting him out at arms’ length, he held him by the shoulders and regarded him critically. “Ma foi, but you are changed into a comely well-grown man. And your mother—she is well, too, I trust.”
“I thank you, Florimond, she is well,” said Marius stiffly.
The Marquis took his hands from his brother’s shoulders; his florid, good-natured face smiling ever, as if this were the happiest moment of his life.
“It is good to see France again, my dear Marius,” he told his brother. “I was a fool to have remained away so long. I am pining to be at Condillac once more.”
Marius eyeing him, looked in vain for signs of the fever. He had expected to find a debilitated, emaciated man; instead, he saw a very lusty, healthy, hearty fellow, full of good humour, and seemingly full of strength. He began to like his purpose less, despite such encouragement as he gathered from the support of Fortunio. Still, it must be gone through with.
“You wrote us that you had the fever,” he said, half inquiringly.
“Pooh! That is naught.” And Florimond snapped a strong finger against a stronger thumb. “But whom have you with you?” he asked, and his eyes took the measure of Fortunio, standing a pace or two behind his master.