"Yes, Monsieur."
"If he ever comes back . . ."
"I am listening."
"Let him in."
And the marquis vanished beyond the landing, leaving the astonished
lackey staring at the vanishing point. He saw the ruin and desolation in
the dining-hall, from which arose the odor of stale wine and smoke.
"Mother of Jesus! What has happened?"
CHAPTER IX
THE FIFTY PISTOLES OF MONSIEUR LE VICOMTE
The roisterers went their devious ways, sobered and subdued. So deep
was their distraction that the watch passed unmolested. Usually a rout
was rounded out and finished by robbing the watch of their staffs and
lanterns; by singing in front of the hotel of the mayor or the
episcopal palace; by yielding to any extravagant whim suggested by
mischief. But to-night mischief itself was quiet and uninventive. Had
there been a violent death among them, the roisterers would have
accepted the event with drunken philosophy. The catastrophe of this
night, however, was beyond their imagination: they were still-voiced
and horrified. The Chevalier du Cevennes, that prince of good fellows
. . . was a nobody, a son of the left hand! Those who owed the
Chevalier money or gratitude now recollected with no small satisfaction
that they had not paid their indebtedness.
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