“And so would any St. Quentin.”

“Oh, you are always piping up for the St. Quentins.”

“He should have no need in this house.”

We jumped up to find Vigo standing behind us.

“What have you been saying of Monsieur?”

“Nothing, M. Vigo,” stammered the page.  “I only said M. le Comte—­”

“You are not to discuss M. le Comte.  Do you hear?”

“Yes, M. Vigo.”

“Then obey.  And you, Felix, I shall have a little interview with you shortly.”

“As you will, M. Vigo,” I said hopelessly.

He went off down the corridor, and Marcel turned angrily on me.

“Mon dieu, Felix, you have got me into a nice scrape with your eternal chanting of the praises of Monsieur.  Like as not I shall get a beating for it.  Vigo never forgets.”

“I am sorry,” I said.  “We should not have been talking of it.”

“No, we should not.  Come over here where we can watch both doors, and I’ll tell you the rest before the old lynx gets back.”

We sat down close together, and he proceeded in a low tone to disobey Vigo.

“Enfin, as I said, the two young gentlemen were quite sans le sou, for things had come to a point where M. le Duc looked pretty black at any application for funds—­he has other uses for his gold, you see.  One day Monsieur was expecting some one to whom he was to pay a thousand pistoles, and to have the money handy he put it in a secret drawer in his cabinet in the room yonder.  The man arrives and is taken to Monsieur’s private room.  Monsieur gives him his orders and goes to the cabinet for his pistoles.  No pistoles there!”

Marcel paused dramatically.  “And what then?” I asked.

“Well, it appears he had once shown M. le Comte the trick of the drawer, so he sent for him—­not to accuse him, mind you.  For M. le Comte is wild enough, yet Monsieur did not think he would steal pistoles, nor would he, I will stake my oath.  No, Monsieur merely asked him if he had ever shown any one the drawer, and M. le Comte answered, ‘Only Grammont.’”

And how have you learned all this?”

“Oh, one hears.”

“One does, with one’s ears to the keyhole.”

“It behooves you, Felix, to be civil to your better!”

I made pretence of looking about me.

“Where is he?”

“He sits here.  I am page to the Duke of St. Quentin.  And you?”

“Touche!” I admitted bitterly enough.  Little Marcel, my junior, my unquestioning follower in the old days, was now indeed my better, quite in a position to patronize.

“Continue, if you please, Marcel.  Yet, in passing, I should like to ask you how much you heard our talk in there just now.”

“Nothing,” he answered candidly.  “When they are so far down the room one cannot hear a word.  In the affair of the pistoles they stood near the cabinet at this end.  One could not help but hear.  As for listening at keyholes, I scorn it.”