hands folded across her heaving breast. "As I value my soul, Charles, I know nothing of him."
"What does he mean when he says here 'I was hasty and too impulsive when we parted in the chapel at Sceaux'?"
"Upon my honour, Charles, I do not know. I never saw the man in all my life—to know him."
"Upon your honour," the Chevalier repeated.
And my lady's cheek flushed fire. But her form straightened up, and her eyes met his unflinching, without guilt or fear. The Chevalier turned and caught sight of Jacques, for the lout, according to his story, had grown to the spot as firm as one of the oaks.
"Here, you fellow, come here, come here!"
And Jacques dared not disobey him.
"Here, fellow, how many notes like this have you brought to my wife?"
"Only that one, my lord." Jacques started in by telling the truth, and he followed it up religiously. According to his account of it, the Chevalier looked him straight through and through until he dared not tell a lie.
"Mind that you tell me the truth. Who gave you this note?"
"Captain de Mouret."
"When?"
"Last night."
"Where?"
"At his quarters."
"To whom did he say you should deliver it?"
