“Indeed! By the King himself, perhaps?”
“Monseigneur can judge for himself,” and Jean held out the signet of the King.
Condé took it in his hand for a moment, and his glance shot out at Marcilly like a sword blade, but the features of the other remained immovable and calm.
“I believe you, monsieur,” he said, as he handed back the signet, “and I place myself in your hands. Forgive me the words I have just spoken.”
For a moment I, Gaspard de Vibrac, had thought that my vengeance on that heartless coquette was about to escape me.
CHAPTER XVIII
MARIE
“What! Do you not stay for dinner?”
It was de Bresy who spoke as I was mounting my horse. He was leaning over the parapet that crowned the gateway, and looking down at me with a curious, suspicious glance in his eyes.
“No!” I answered carelessly, as I gained the saddle. “I am due at the palace this afternoon, and have made my excuse to His Highness. By the way, you have later news than I, monsieur—does the King’s improvement continue?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “’Tis said he had a good night.”