Mar has been up to since he disappeared a month back."

"You are at unnecessary pains, my dear Francois; I already know Mar's
whereabouts and doings rather better than he knows them himself."

Brie dropped his hand from my collar, looking by no means at ease. I
perceived that this was the way with Mayenne: you knew what he said but
you did not know what he thought. His somewhat heavy face varied little;
what went on in his mind behind the smiling mask was matter for anxiety.
If he asked pleasantly after your health, you fancied he might be
thinking how well you would grace the gallows.

M. de Brie said nothing and the duke continued:

"Yes, I have kept watch over him these five weeks. You are late,
Francois. You little boys are fools; you think because you do not know a
thing I do not know it. Was I cruel to keep my information from you, ma
belle Lorance?"

The attack was absolutely sudden; he had not seemed to observe her.
Mademoiselle coloured and made no instant reply. His voice was neither
loud nor rough; he was smiling upon her.

"Or did you need no information, mademoiselle?"

She met his look unflinching.

"I have not been sighing for tidings of the Comte de Mar, monsieur."

"Because you have had tidings, mademoiselle?"

"No, monsieur, I have had no communication with M. de Mar since
May--until to-night."

"And what has happened to-night?"

"To-night--Paul appeared."

"Paul!" ejaculated the duke, startled momentarily out of his phlegm.
"Paul here?"

"He was, monsieur, an hour ago. He has since gone forth again, I know
not whither or for what."

Mayenne ruminated over this, pulling off his gloves slowly.

"Well? What has this to do with Mar?"

She had no choice, though in evident fear of his displeasure, but to go
through again the tale of the wager and letter. She was moistening her
dry lips as she finished, her eyes on his face wide with apprehension.
But he answered amiably, half absently, as if the whole affair were a
triviality:

"Never mind; I will give you a pair of gloves, Lorance."

He stood smiling upon us as if amused for an idle moment over our
childish games. The colour came back to her cheeks; she made him a
curtsey, laughing lightly.

"Then my grief is indeed cured, monsieur. A new bit of finery is the
best of balms for wounded self-esteem, is it not, Blanche? I confess I
am piqued; I had dared to imagine that my squire might remember me still
after a month of absence. I sh