“I leave Paris to-night. I am no longer safe.”
“Then we will go together and join the Prince. It must be open war now. Thank God! The Cardinal is a poltroon, and has lost his head, else they would have trapped us like rabbits—but there are still some men amongst the Guisards, and they may be here any moment. Come!” And he started up, the glove still in his hand. “Let us be off!”
For an instant I knew not what to say; then recovering myself with an effort I told him: “I will meet you at compline—at the Porte St. Victor.” It was the gate opposite to that by which I meant to leave Paris.
“At compline! Between this and compline we may have lodgings in the Châtelet—what bee have you got in your head to stay here now?”
Unconsciously my eyes fell on the glove in his hand, and following my glance he jumped to a conclusion.
“I see,” he said with a bitter laugh, “this trifle! A pretty toy,” and then, looking at it curiously, “’tis almost small enough to fit her hand.”
Did the man suspect or know? Was he trifling with me? For the moment I thought he was, and watched him with a new-born cowardice in my heart. Even as I did so I thought I heard a movement in the room within, and glanced round with a guilty start. Surely Marie had not stayed? It could not be! And then I turned again to Marcilly. He had not observed that start and backward look. He was staring at the glove in his hand.
“The very perfume she uses,” he murmured to himself, and, laying the glove gently on the table, he looked me full in the face, saying—
“I wish you all happiness, Vibrac, if it is as I think. More happiness than has fallen to me!”
“You! You are the most fortunate of men.”