"
Michelot screwed up his face and scratched at his grey beard with his huge
hand.
"Does no suspicion of foul play cross your mind, Monsieur?" he inquired
timidly.
"Shame on you, Michelot," I returned with some heat. "You do not yet
understand the ways of gentlemen. Think you that M. de St. Auban would
stoop to such a deed as that? He would be shamed for ever! Pooh, I would
as soon suspect my Lord Cardinal of stealing the chalices from N?tre Dame.
Go, see to my horse. I am riding to Canaples."
As I rode out towards the ch?teau I fell to thinking, and my thoughts
turning to Vilmorin, I marvelled at the part he was playing in this little
comedy of a cabal against Andrea de Mancini. His tastes and instincts were
of the boudoir, the ante-chamber, and the table. He wore a sword because
it was so ordained by fashion, and because the hilt was convenient for the
display of a jewel or two. Certainly 't was not for utility that it hung
beside him, and no man had ever seen it drawn. Nature had made him the
most pitiable coward begotten. Why then should he involve himself in an
affair which promised bloodshed, and which must be attended by many a risk
for him? There was in all this some mystery that I could not fathom.
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