ou?"

He wore under his breastplate what I took to be the uniform of the city
guards. I had seen the like on the officer of the gate the night I
entered Paris. He was a young man of a decidedly bourgeois appearance,
as if he were not much, outside of his uniform.

"My name is Felix Broux," I said. "I came to pay a bill--"

"His servant," Maitre Menard contrived to murmur, the dragoon allowing
him a breath.

"Oh, you are the Comte de Mar's servant, are you? Where have you left
your master?"

"What do you want of him?" I asked in turn.

"Never you mind. I want him."

"But Mayenne said he should not be touched," I cried. "The Duke of
Mayenne said himself he should not be touched."

"I know nothing about that," he returned, a trifle more civilly than he
had spoken. "I have naught to do with the Duke of Mayenne. If he is
friends with your master, M. de Mar may not stay behind bars very long.
But I have the governor's warrant for his arrest."

"On what charge?"

"A trifle. Merely murder."

"_Murder?_"

"Yes, the murder of a lackey, one Pontou."

"But that is ridiculous!" I cried. "M. le Comte did not--"

I came to a halt, not knowing what to say. "Lucas--Paul de Lorraine
killed him," was on the tip of my tongue, but I choked it down. To fling
wild accusations against a great man's man were no wisdom. By accident I
had given the officer the impression that we were friends of Mayenne. I
should do ill to imperil the delusion. "M. le Comte--" I began again,
and again stopped. I meant to say that monsieur had never left the inn
last night; he could have had no hand in the crime. Then I bethought me
that I had better not know the hour of the murder. "M. le Comte is a
very grand gentleman; he would not murder a lackey," I got out at last.

"You can tell that to the judges," the captain rejoined.

At this I felt ice sliding down my spine. To be arrested as a witness
was the last thing I desired.

"I know nothing whatever about it," I cried. "He seemed to me a very
fine gentleman. But you can't always tell about these nobles. The Comte
de Mar, I've only known him twenty-four hours. Until he engaged me as
lackey, yesterday afternoon, I had never laid eyes on him. I know not
what he has been about. He engaged me yesterday to carry a message for
him to the Hotel St. Quentin. I came into Paris but night before last,
and put up at the Amour de Dieu in the Rue Coupejarrets. Yesterday he
employed me to run his errands,