. . before you all? Impossible!"
The beads slipped through Brother Jacques's fingers. He leaned against
the wall, his eyes round, his nostrils expanded. A great wave of pity
surged over him. He saw nothing but the handsome youth who had spoken
kindly to him at the Candlestick in Paris. That word! That invisible,
searing iron! He straightened, and his eyes flashed like points of
steel in the sunshine. That grim, wicked old man; not a thousand times
a thousand livres would give him the key to Heaven. Brother Jacques
left the tavern and walked along the wharves, breathing deeply of the
vigorous sea-air.
Victor encountered the vicomte as the latter was about to go aboard.
"Ah," said the vicomte; "so you ran about with a drawn sword last
night? Monsieur, you are only a boy." The vicomte never lost his
banter; it was a habit.
"I was hot-headed and in wine." Victor had an idea in regard to the
vicomte.
"The devil is always lurking in the pot; so let us not stir him again."
"Willingly."
"I compliment you on your good sense. Monsieur, I've been thinking
seriously. Has it not occurred to you that Madame de Brissac has that
paper?"
"Would she seek Spain?" said Victor.
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