‘I have a favour to ask,’ I stammered desperately, ‘if your Eminence will give me a moment alone.’
‘To what end?’ he answered, turning and eyeing me with cold disfavour. ‘I know you—your past—all. It can do no good, my friend.’
‘No harm!’ I cried. ‘And I am a dying man, Monseigneur!’
‘That is true,’ he said thoughtfully. Still he seemed to hesitate; and my heart beat fast. At last he looked at the lieutenant. ‘You may leave us,’ he said shortly. ‘Now,’ he continued, when the officer had withdrawn and left us alone, ‘what is it? Say what you have to say quickly. And, above all, do not try to fool me, M. de Berault.’
But his piercing eyes so disconcerted me now that I had my chance, and was alone with him, that I could not find a word to say, and stood before him mute. I think this pleased him, for his face relaxed.
‘Well?’ he said at last. ‘Is that all?’
‘The man is not dead,’ I muttered.
He shrugged his shoulders contemptuously.
‘What of that?’ he said. ‘That was not what you wanted to say to me.’
‘Once I saved your Eminence’s life,’ I faltered miserably.