"
More was said between them, but my attention was suddenly drawn elsewhere.
Michelot burst into the room, disaster written on his face.
"Monsieur," he cried, in great alarm, "the Marquis de St. Auban is riding
down the street with the Vicomte de Vilmorin and another gentleman."
I rapped out an oath at the news; they had got scent of Andrea's
whereabouts, and were after him like sleuth-hounds on a trail.
"Remain here, Michelot," I answered in a low voice. "Tell them that M. de
Mancini is not here, that the only occupant of the inn is your master, a
gentleman from Normandy, or Picardy, or where you will. See that they do
not guess our presence--the landlord fortunately is ignorant of M. de
Mancini's name."
There was a clatter of horses' hoofs without, and I was barely in time to
escape by the door leading to the staircase, when St. Auban's heavy voice
rang out, calling the landlord.
"I am in search of a gentleman named Andrea de Mancini," he said. "I am
told that he has journeyed hither, and that he is here at present. Am I
rightly informed?"
I determined to remain where I was, and hear that conversation to the end.
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