'Good-bye.'
'Good-bye.'
I turned, and without another look passed out of the hall. As I went down the stairway I saw on the terrace to my right the figure of d'Ayen. He had changed his costume to the slashed and puffed dress which earned for the gay gentlemen of Henry's court the nickname of 'Bigarrets,' from M. de Savoye's caustic tongue, and his wizened face stood out of his snowy ruff in all the glow of its fresh paint. With one foot resting on the parapet, he was engaged in throwing crumbs to the peacocks that basked on the turf beneath him. I would have passed, but he called out.
'M. le Chevalier—a word.'
'A word then only, sir, I am in haste.'
'A bad thing, haste,' he said, staring at me from head to foot; 'these woods would fetch a good price, would they not?' and he waved his hand towards the wide-stretching forest.
'You mistake, M. d'Ayen, I am not a timber merchant.'
'Oh! a good price,' he went on, not heeding my reply. 'M. le Chevalier, I was going to say I will have them down when I am master here. They obstruct the view.'
I could have flung him from the terrace, but held myself in and turned on my heel.
'Adieu! Chevalier,' he called out after me, 'and remember what I have said.'