“Aye, madame,” he told her pleasantly, “always Garnache. Tenacious as a leech, madame; and like a leech come hither to do a little work of purification.”
Her eyes, now kindling again as she recovered from her recent fears, sought Fortunio’s shifty glance. Garnache followed it and read what was in her mind.
“What Fortunio has done,” said he, “he has done by your son’s authority and sanction.”
“Marius?” she inquired, and she was almost fearful lest she should hear that by her son he meant her stepson, and that Marius was dead.
“Yes, Marius,” he answered her. “I bent him to my will. I threatened him that he and this fellow of his, this comrade in arms so worthy of his master, should be broken on the wheel together unless I were implicitly obeyed. If they would save their lives, this was their chance. They were wise, and they took it, and thus afforded me the means of penetrating into Condillac and rescuing Mademoiselle de La Vauvraye.”
“Then Marius—?” She left her question unfinished, her hand clutching nervously at the bosom of her gown.
“Is sound and well, as Fortunio truthfully will have told you. But he is not yet out of my grasp, nor will be until the affairs of Condillac are settled. For if I meet with further opposition here, broken on the wheel he shall be yet, I promise you.”
Still she made a last attempt at hectoring it. The long habit of mastership dies hard. She threw back her head; her courage revived now that she knew Marius to be alive and sound.
“Fine words,” she sneered. “But who are you that you can threaten so and promise so?”
“I am the Queen-Regent’s humble mouthpiece, madame. What I threaten, I threaten in her name. Ruffle it no longer, I beseech you. It will prove little worth your while. You are deposed, madame, and you had best take your deposition with dignity and calm—in all friendliness do I advise it.”