“Aye, but I have business in Paris.  I mean to join King Henry, Vigo.  There’s glory going begging out there at St. Denis.  It would like me well to bear away my share.  But—­”

He broke off, to begin again abruptly: 

“Ah, Vigo, that still tongue of yours!  You knew, then, that there was more cause of trouble between my father and me than the pistoles?”

“I knew he suspected you of a kindness for the League, monsieur.  But you are cured of that.”

“There you are wrong.  For I never had it, and I am not cured of it.  If I hung around the Hotel de Lorraine, it was not for politics; it was for petticoats.”

Vigo made no answer, but the corners of his grim mouth twitched.

“That’s no news, either?  Well, then, since you know so much, you may as well know more.  Step up, Felix, and tell your tale.”

I did as I was bid, M. Etienne now and then taking the words out of my mouth in his eagerness, Vigo listening to us both with grave attention.  I had for the second time in my career the pleasure of startling him out of his iron composure when I told him the true name and condition of Lucas.  But at the end of the adventure all the comment he made was: 

“A fool for luck.”

“Well,” said M. Etienne, impatiently, “is that all you have to say?  What are we to do about it?”

“Do?  Why, nothing.”

“Nothing?” he cried, with his hand on his sword.  “Nothing?  And let that scoundrel have her?”

“That is M. de Mayenne’s affair,” Vigo said.  “We can’t help it.”

“I will help it!” M. Etienne declared.  “Mordieu!  Am I to let that traitor, that spy, that soul of dirt, marry Mlle. de Montluc?”

“What Mayenne wishes he’ll have,” Vigo said.  “Some day you will surely get a chance to fight Lucas, monsieur.”

“And meantime he is to enjoy her?”

“It is a pity,” Vigo admitted.  “But there is Mayenne.  Can we storm the Hotel de Lorraine?  No one can drink up the sea.”

“One could if he wanted to as much as I want mademoiselle,” my lord declared.

But Vigo shook his head.

“Monsieur,” he said gravely, “monsieur, you have a great chance.  You have a sword and a good cause to draw it in.  What more should a man ask in the world than that?  Your father has been without it these three years, and for want of it he has eaten his heart out.  You have been without it, and you have got yourself into all sorts of mischief.  But now all that is coming straight.  King Henry is turning Catholic, so that a man may follow him without offence to God.  He is a good fellow and a first-rate general.  He’s just out there, at St. Denis.  There’s your place, M. Etienne.”

“Not to-day, Vigo.”

“Yes, M. Etienne, to-day.  Be advised, monsieur,” Vigo said with his steady persistence.  “There is nothing to gain by staying here to drink up the sea.  Mayenne will no more give your lady to you now than he would give her to Felix.  And you can no more carry her off than could Felix.  Mayenne will have you killed and flung into the Seine, as easy as eat breakfast.”