“What other?” Tignonville cried.
“A minister,” Tavannes answered, smiling. “A minister. There are not many left in Paris—of your faith. But you met one this morning, I know.”
“I? I met one?”
“Yes, Monsieur, you! And can lay your hand on him in five minutes, you know.”
M. de Tignonville gasped. His face turned a shade paler.
“You have a spy,” he cried. “You have a spy upstairs!”
Tavannes raised his cup to his lips, and drank. When he had set it down—
“It may be,” he said, and he shrugged his shoulders. “I know, it boots not how I know. It is my business to make the most of my knowledge—and of yours!”
M. de Tignonville laughed rudely. “Make the most of your own,” he said; “you will have none of mine.”
“That remains to be seen,” Count Hannibal answered. “Carry your mind back two days, M. de Tignonville. Had I gone to Mademoiselle de Vrillac last Saturday and said to her ‘Marry me, or promise to marry me,’ what answer would she have given?”