"
"Palsy? Bah! The wine always stopped my head from wagging. And hang
me if that dream of mine hasn't numbed my legs." The marquis held out
a hand. "And in my dream I believed this hand to be holding a sword!
It was a gallant fight, as I remember. I was Quixote, defending some
fool-thing or other."
"Have you ever thought of the future, Monsieur?"
"Death? My faith, no! I have been too busy with the past. The past,
the past!" and the marquis closed his eyes. "It walks beside me like a
shadow. If I were not too old . . . I should regret . . . some of it."
"There is relief in confession."
"I have nothing to confess."
"Shall I seek Monsieur le Chevalier?"
"No. Do not disturb him. He has his affairs. He is busy becoming
great and respected," ironically. "Besides, the sight of the stubborn
fool would send me into spasms. After all the trouble I have taken for
his sake! You do well to take the orders. You do not marry, and you
have no ungrateful sons. It was not enough to confess that I lied to
him; I must strain the buckles at my knees. But not yet."
"Lied?"
"Why, yes. I told him that he was .
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