Bruhl shook his head. 'It was too dark,' he said.
'And heard no more?'
'No.'
'Do I understand, then,' the Marquis continued slowly, 'that M. de Marsac is arrested because the priest--God rest his soul!--cried to him for help?'
'For help?' M. de Retz exclaimed fiercely.
'For help?' said the king, surprised. And at that the most ludicrous change fell upon the faces of all. The king looked puzzled, the Duke of Nevers smiled, the Duke of Mercœur laughed aloud. Crillon cried boisterously, 'Good hit!' and the majority, who wished no better than to divine the winning party, grinned broadly, whether they would or no.
To Marshal Retz, however, and Bruhl, that which to everyone else seemed an amusing retort had a totally different aspect; while the former turned yellow with chagrin and came near to choking, the latter looked as chapfallen and startled as if his guilt had been that moment brought home to him. Assured by the tone of the monk's voice--which must, indeed, have thundered in his ears--that my name was uttered in denunciation by one who thought me his assailant, he had chosen to tell the truth without reflecting that words, so plain to him, might bear a different construction when repeated.
'Certainly the words seem ambiguous,' Henry muttered.
'But it was Marsac killed him,' Retz cried in a rage.
'It is for some evidence of that we are waiting,' my champion answered suavely.