"
"Yes. I am known as the Chevalier du Cevennes, under De Guitaut, in
her Majesty's Guards."
"Cevennes?" the priest repeated, ruminating. "Why, that is the name of
a mountain range in the South."
"So it is. I was born in that region, and it pleased me to bear
Cevennes as a name of war. I possess a title, but I do not assume it;
I simply draw its revenues." The Chevalier scowled at his buckles, as
if some disagreeable thought had come to him.
The priest remarked the change in the soldier's voice; it had grown
harsh and repellent. "Monsieur, I proceed from Rouen to Rochelle; are
you familiar with that city?"
"Rochelle? Oh, indifferently."
The Jesuit plucked at his lips for a space, as if hesitant to break the
silence. "Have you ever heard of the Marquis de Perigny?"
The Chevalier whirled about. "The Marquis de Perigny? Ah, yes; I have
heard of that gentleman. Why do you ask?"
"It is said that while he is a bad Catholic, he is generous in his
charities. Father Chaumonot and I intend to apply to him for
assistance. Mazarin has not been very liberal. Ah, how little they
dream of the length and breadth and riches of this France across the
sea! Monsieur le Marquis is rich?"
"Rich; but a bad Catholic truly.
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