“On what?”
“On Mademoiselle de Vrillac.”
The other’s eyes gleamed with passion. He leaned forward.
“What has she to do with it?” he cried. And he stood up and sat down again in a breath.
Tavannes raised his eyebrows with a blandness that seemed at odds with his harsh visage.
“I will answer that question by another question,” he replied. “How many are there in the house, my friend?”
“You can count.”
Tavannes counted again. “Seven?” he said. Tignonville nodded impatiently.
“Seven lives?”
“Well?”