"Monseigneur, as our Lady is witness, I have never, to my knowledge,
set eyes upon Madame de Brissac, though it is true that at one time it
was my father's wish that I should wed Mademoiselle de Montbazon."
"Monsieur, when a man wears such fashionable clothes as you wear, he
naturally fixes the memory, becomes conspicuous. Do not forget the
grey cloak, Monsieur le Chevalier."
"The grey cloak?" The Chevalier's face brightened. "Why, Monseigneur,
the grey cloak . . ." He stopped. Victor de Saumaise, his friend, his
comrade in arms, Victor the gay and careless, who was without any
influence save that which his cheeriness and honesty and wit gave him!
Victor the poet, the fashionable Villon, with his ballade, his rondeau,
his triolet, his chant-royal!--Victor, who had put his own breast
before his at Lens! The Chevalier regained his composure, he saw his
way clearly, and said quietly: "I have not worn my grey cloak since the
king's party at Louvre. I can only repeat that I was not in Paris last
night. I slept at the Pineapple at Fontainebleau. Having no money, I
pawned my ring for a night's lodging. If you will send some gentleman
to make inquiries, the truth of my statement will be verified.
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