g in Lucas's chagrined face. But
instead he seemed less struck with his nephew's misfortunes than with
some other aspect of the affair. He said slowly:

"You told Belin this arrest was my desire?"

"I may have implied something of the sort."

"You repeated it to the arresting officer before Mar's boy!"

"I had no time to say anything before they hustled me off," Lucas
exclaimed. "Mille tonnerres! Never had any man such luck as I. It's
enough to make me sign papers with the devil."

"Mar would believe I had broken faith with him?"

"I dare say. One isn't responsible for what Mar believes," Lucas
answered carelessly.

Mayenne was silent, with knit brows, drumming his hand on the table.
Lucas went on with the tale of his woes:

"At the Bastille, I ordered the commissary to send to you. He did not;
he sent to Belin. Belin was busy, didn't understand the message,
wouldn't be bothered. I lay in my cell like a mouse in a trap till an
hour agone, when at last he saw fit to appear--damn him!"

Mayenne fell to laughing. Lucas cried out:

"When they arrested me my first thought was that this was your work."

"In that case, how should you be free now?"

"You found you needed me."

"You are twice wrong, Paul. For I knew nothing of your arrest. Nor do I
think I need you. Pardieu! you succeed too badly to give me confidence."

Lucas stood glowering, gnawing his lip, picturing the chagrin, the angry
reproaches, the justifications he did not utter. I am certain he pitied
himself as the sport of fate and of tyrants, the most shamefully used
of mortal men. And so long as he aspired to the hand of Mayenne's ward,
so long was he helpless under Mayenne's will.

"'Twas pity," Mayenne said reflectively, "that you thought best to be
absent last night. Had you been here, you had had sport. Your young
friend Mar came to sing under his lady's window."

"Saw she him?" Lucas cried sharply.

"How should I know? She does not confide in me."

"You took care to find out!" Lucas cried, knowing he was being badgered,
yet powerless to keep himself from writhing.

"I may have."

"Did she see him?" Lucas demanded again, the heavy lines of hatred and
jealousy searing his face.

"No credit to you if she did not. You accomplish singularly little to
harass M. de Mar in his love-making. You deserve that she should have
seen him. But, as a matter of fact, she did not. She was in the chapel
with madame."

"What happened?"

"Francois de