"A villain called Berthaud," Crillon answered promptly and fiercely, "who was in attendance upon the Duke of Guise."
"He was not in attendance on me!" the duke answered, with spirit.
"Then on Madame de Sauves."
"I know nothing of him!" cried that lady, hysterically. "I never spoke to the man in my life. I do not know him!"
"Enough!" the king said with decision; but the gloom on his brow grew darker. "Enough. Until Berthaud is found, let no more be said. Cousin," he continued to the Count of Soissons, "you will see us home. D'Ornano, we return at once, and you will accompany us. For M. de Crillon, we commit to him the care of this young man, to whom we appear to be indebted, and whose thought for us we shall not forget. Madame, I kiss your hand."
Guise's salutation he acknowledged only by a grave bow. The last of the Valois could at times exert himself, could at times play again the hero of Jarnac and Montcontour, could even assume a dignity no whit less than that of Guise. As he retired all bowed low to him, and the greater part of the assemblage—even those who had not attended him to the house—left in his train. In three minutes Crillon, a couple of inferior officers, and a handful of guards alone remained round the young man.
"He will recover," Crillon said, speaking to the officer next him. "He is young, and they did not dare to make the dose too strong. We shall not, however, convict any one now, unless Berthaud speaks."
"Berthaud is dead."
"What?"
"As dead as Clovis," the lieutenant repeated calmly. "He is lying in the passage, M. de Crillon."