As soon as I recovered myself I saw that they had placed before me wine and meat, and were refraining from asking further questions until I should have refreshed myself. But the words which were whispered in my ear seemed to shut all fear behind me. "Courage; you are with friends. We will not desert you," told me to trust.
I looked up from my plate (truly I had been well fed for a vagabond this day), and found my new friends in consultation. I caught the word "clothes," and looking down at myself, I reddened. I was mad to tear the horrid rags from me. Monsieur de Brissac, as I shall call him, as it was he that afterwards became my patron, saw that I had finished the meal, and giving me a smile and a bow, came nearer. He was a very handsome man, of about seven-and-thirty, with a fine figure, and a well-turned leg that showed to the best advantage in his black small-clothes, for he also followed a fashion a little different from the English of that time. But of this I shall speak at greater length farther on.
"Monsieur de Brienne," he said, "I would like to ask you something of your father."
"He is dead," I answered.
And at this, God forgive me, I saw that I had deceived them all into thinking that I was my uncle's son, instead of his nephew. Now I reasoned if I should tell them my remarkable story, and proclaim that I did not know my father's name, and was all in a fog in regard to that of my mother, even although I knew so much about the past family history, I would put a sorry climax to a very good beginning. I regretted deeply that I should have to let them keep on in the error; but I spoke the truth, and I did not know it at the time.
"Monsieur de Brienne is dead?" repeated Monsieur de Brissac.
I sighed. "Alas!"
"He was a strange man, and they say the best swordsman at court—un vrai galant."
"There could be no better," I answered. "He taught me all I know."
The gentlemen smiled at this, but the next question that was asked me by the Marquis de Senez caused me to start.