"Of course, if Madame--if Madame knows nothing of the monk," he said, looking vacantly about the dirty room, "it is clear that--it seems clear that there has been a mistake."
"And only one thing remains to be done," I suggested.
"But--but," he continued, with a resumption of his former importance, "there is still one point unexplained--that of the red cockade, Monsieur? What of that, M. le Vicomte?"
"The red cockade?" I said.
"Ay, what of that?" he asked briskly.
I had not expected this, and I looked desperately at Madame. Surely her woman's wit would find a way, whatever the cockade meant. "Have you asked Madame Corréas?" I said at last, feebly shifting the burden. "Have you asked her to explain it?"
"No," he answered.
"Then I would ask her," I said.
"Nay, do not ask me; ask M. le Vicomte," she answered lightly. "Ask him of what colour are the facings of the National Guards of Quercy?"
"Red!" I cried, in a burst of relief. "Red!" I knew, for had I not seen Buton's coat lying by the forge? But how Madame de St. Alais knew I have no idea.