The Marquis drank. “Is there anything else?” he asked. “Lots of little things,” replied the Vicomte composedly. “I won’t bore you with them; I am not sure that I haven’t forgotten some of them already. Anyhow, there were some pretty long faces yesterday between these various items of information and this.” He indicated the King’s ring on his finger, next to the plain silver circlet inside which was engraved, as Gilbert knew, _Deus salvum fac regem, reginam, et delphinum!_—words which might any day cost the wearer his life. “And I owe it to you to a knowledge that I did not, on Saturday night, carry to our fair hostess’s agreeable salon as unbiassed a mind as would have been mine before your arrival and denunciation. I observed a few trifles.” “But now you have definitely broken off negotiations with the Gironde!” Louis made a little grimace. “We can’t exactly do that. The stage of negotiations is past. If they are acting in bad faith it is all up with us, and we have nothing further to do but to stop in our mouse-trap and await the cat or a bucket of water.” He stirred his coffee with an admirable equanimity which Gilbert hardly felt capable of imitating. “Then what will you do?” he asked, frowning. “You must do something.” “What can we do?” demanded Louis. “My friend the Chevalier d’Aubeville, who has a head on his shoulders—as yet—thinks we should seem to go on as we have begun, if it is possible to do so without implicating ourselves still further, lest we precipitate the crisis by showing suspicion. One or two believe that matters will not come to a point, as far as our own personal safety is concerned. They conceive that the aim of the transaction is to implicate and to discredit . . . another.” He lifted his hat as he spoke, with a face grown grave. “That is very possible,” returned Gilbert reflectively. “And that aim—is it likely to have been attained? Never mind, mon cher,” he went on kindly, “we won’t discuss it. Let us for the moment consider your own personal plans.” “I haven’t any,” said the young conspirator, pushing away his empty cup. “I shall stop here with the rest, and see what happens. I cannot run away now.” “No, of course not,” agreed the Marquis. “Still, I had hoped—before this happened—that you would be free to do a little office for me.” He was not very greatly surprised at his kinsman’s resolution to go through with the affair in which he had become entangled, nor in his heart did he blame it, yet he hoped that, if he played his cards carefully, he might still prevail on him to get out of harm’s way before it was too late. Louis looked enquiringly at him. “This is what I wanted you to do for me,” resumed Château-Foix, putting his elbows on the table and lowering his voice. “It is absolutely imperative that I return home with as little delay as possible.” “You surely don’t need _my_ assistance with your devoted tenantry?”