“A plague on the girl!” he growled, unconsciously uttering his thoughts aloud. “The devil take her!”
Garnache smiled grimly. “That is a bond of sympathy between us,” said he. “I have said those very words a hundred times—a thousand times, indeed—between Paris and Grenoble. Yet I scarcely see that you can damn her with as much justice as can I.
“But there, monsieur; all this is unprofitable. You have my message. I shall spend the day at Grenoble, and take a well-earned rest. By this time to-morrow I shall be ready to start upon my return journey. I shall have then the honour to wait upon you again, to the end that I may receive from you the charge of Mademoiselle de La Vauvraye. I shall count upon your having her here, in readiness to set out with me, by noon to-morrow.”
He bowed, with a flourish of his plumed hat, and would with that have taken his departure but that the Seneschal stayed him.
“Monsieur, monsieur,” he cried, in piteous affright, “you do not know the Dowager of Condillac.”
“Why, no. What of it?”
“What of it? Did you know her, you would understand that she is not the woman to be driven. I may order her in the Queen’s name to deliver up Mademoiselle de La Vauvraye. But she will withstand me.”
“Withstand you?” echoed Garnache, frowning into the face of this fat man, who had risen also, brought to his feet by excitement. “Withstand you—you, the Lord Seneschal of Dauphiny? You are amusing yourself at my expense.”
“But I tell you that she will,” the other insisted in a passion. “You may look for the girl in vain tomorrow unless you go to Condillac yourself and take her.”
Garnache drew himself up and delivered his answer in a tone that was final.