Thus terminated this formidable interview; but, alas! it was now close to the end of May, and in the background of June was the man with the wart.
The next day, in the garden, Francis related to the marquis his interview with the dreaded Jacobin. The gentleman was delighted.
"Mon Dieu! François, you are a great man; but I fear it will do no good; my turn must be near. De Crosne and poor Fleury got their little billets last evening, and are off on a voyage of discovery to-morrow, along with M. de la Morne, and De Lancival, and more. They will be in good society. Did you think that Jacobin Apollo would be pricked into letting me out for the chance of killing me?"
"It came near to that, monsieur. I did say that you were not much of a blade, after all; that Citizen Amar was out of condition when you last met; and that if he and I could fence a little,—outside, of course,—M. le Marquis would regret the meeting."
"Delicious! And he took it all?"
"Yes, as little Annette takes a fairy-tale of M. Fleury's—who will tell no more, poor fellow!"
"But, after all, we are still here. I envy you the interview. Parbleu! these fellows do their best, but they can't take the jests out of life. I hope the next world will be as amusing."
As he ceased, François exclaimed:
"By all the saints! there is that crazy fool Despard."
"Despard—Despard?" repeated the marquis. "That is a contribution to the show. How the mischief did he get here?"