“You lost by a stroke; but we are to play another match; would you care to make it double or quits?”
“Take him, Gaspard,” laughed Marcilly; “double or quits on the next match we play. You will lose, de Bresy.”
“I take the wager,” I smiled, catching the hidden meaning in Jean’s words, and we found ourselves on the landing before the Prince’s apartments, the door of which was, however, closed. The subaltern officer was on guard there, and de Bresy addressed him.
“How is the Prince, Comminges?”
“Vaux tells me he sleeps, but that if these gentlemen came they were to be admitted, as the Prince desired to see them.”
“We can wait in quiet in the ante-room,” said Marcilly in a low voice, and then de Bresy led us in.
Vaux, the Prince’s page, was alone in the room, building a house of cards at the table. He looked up as we entered, put his finger to his lips, and whispered:
“He sleeps still.”
“Does any one watch by him?” asked Marcilly.
“No,” replied Vaux; “but shall I arouse Monseigneur? He desires much to speak with you.”