"Ah, here is my mysterious gentleman!" cried Ste. Luce. "They have bets on you. Tell these gentlemen who you really are. They are puzzled."
François smiled. He was pleased to do or say anything which would take his thoughts off the near approach of the messenger of doom. He said:
"M. le Marquis knows that I am under an oath."
"Pardie! true, true; I have heard as much."
"The bets stand over," said a gray old man, M. de l'Antilhac. "We knew you as a juggler."
"Yes, and a fencing-master," said Du Pin.
"You are both right. These times and the king's service set a man to strange trades. Well, gentlemen, I am not to be questioned. Tales lose heads."
They laughed. "Pardon me," said a younger man. "The marquis was about to tell us of the delightful encounter you had on his staircase. 'T is like a legend of the days of Henri IV of blessed memory."
"Tell them," said Ste. Luce.
"The marquis does me much—Dieu!" François cried, and fell back into a chair, weak as a child. The turnkey went by him with the fatal missives.