He shook his head with a cunning smile. 'A thousand thanks, but I will settle that myself!' he answered. 'Au revoir!' And muttering a word of leave-taking to M. François d'Agen, he blessed the two servants, and went out into the night.
CHAPTER XVIII.
[THE OFFER OF THE LEAGUE.]
When the last sound of his footsteps died away, I awoke as from an evil dream, and becoming conscious of the presence of M. François and the servants, recollected mechanically that I owed the former an apology for my discourtesy in keeping him standing in the cold. I began to offer it; but my distress and confusion of mind were such that in the middle of a set phrase I broke off, and stood looking fixedly at him, my trouble so plain that he asked me civilly if anything ailed me.
'No,' I answered, turning from him impatiently; 'nothing, nothing, sir. Or tell me,' I continued, with an abrupt change of mind, 'who is that who has just left us?'
'Father Antoine, do you mean?'
'Ay, Father Antoine, Father Judas, call him what you like,' I rejoined bitterly.
'Then if you leave the choice to me,' M. François answered with grave politeness, 'I would rather call him something more pleasant, M. de Marsac--James or John, let us say. For there is little said here which does not come back to him. If walls have ears, the walls of Blois are in his pay. But I thought you knew him,' he continued. 'He is secretary, confidant, chaplain, what you will, to Cardinal Retz, and one of those whom--in your ear--greater men court and more powerful men lean on. If I had to choose between them, I would rather cross M. de Crillon.'
'I am obliged to you,' I muttered, checked as much by his manner as his words.
'Not at all,' he answered more lightly. 'Any information I have is at your disposal.'