My companion took up the candle, and stepping to the bedside, he drew apart the curtains.
Lying there I beheld a man whose countenance, despite its pallor and the bloody bandages about his brow, I recognised for that of the little spitfire Malpertuis.
As the light fell upon his face, the little fellow opened his eyes, and upon beholding me at his side he made a sudden movement which wrung from him a cry of pain.
“Lie still, Monsieur,” said Montrésor quietly.
But for all the lieutenant's remonstrances, he struggled up into a sitting posture, requesting Montrésor to set the pillows at his back.
“Thank God you are here, M. de Luynes!” he said. “I learnt at Canaples that you were not dead.”
“You have been to Canaples?”
“I was a guest of the Chevalier for twelve days. I arrived there on the day after your departure.”
“You!” I ejaculated. “Pray what took you to Canaples?”
“What took me there?” he echoed, turning his feverish eyes upon me, almost with fierceness. “The same motive that led me to join hands with that ruffian St. Auban, when he spoke of waging war against Mancini; the same motive that led me to break with him when I saw through his plans, and when the abduction of Mademoiselle was on foot; the same motive that made me come to you and tell you of the proposed abduction so that you might interfere if you had the power, or cause others to do so if you had not.”