"Now I wonder what in the devil's name the governor's secretary was
saying to that man?" growled Blaise Tripault.
For reply, I gave a look which reflected the surmise that I saw in
Blaise's own eyes.
"Well," I said, "if it be that, the Vicomte de Berquin will be a vastly
ingenious gentleman if he can either find our hiding-place, or delude me
away from my men. To think that they should have chosen the first
mercenary wretch they met on their way! Yet doubtless the perspicacious
Montignac knows his man."
"The secretary pointed to this inn as if he were telling him that you
were here," observed Blaise, meditatively.
"But inasmuch as the secretary does not know that I am here," said I,
"his pointing to the inn could not have accompanied that information. He
was doubtless advising his friend to begin his enterprise with a hearty
meal, which was very good advice. And now, as this Vicomte de Berquin
does not know me by sight, let us go down and make his acquaintance.
Remember that you are the master, and make a better pretence of it than
you have usually made."
"I pretend the master no worse than you pretend the servant," muttered
Blaise, while I opened the door of our chamber. A moment later we were
descending the stairs leading to the kitchen.
An unexpected sight met our eyes. M. de Berquin stood with his back to a
rear door, his arms extended, as if to prevent the departure of the lady,
who stood facing him, in the attitude of shrinking back from him.
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