"No, my friend; for, before we adjudge him a traitor, we must examine into the affair more carefully, and that is what we are about to do." At that moment Clindor knocked at the door. He announced that Monsieur de Villareal was indisposed and desired to keep his chamber. "That is so much the better," said the marquis; "I will go to pay him a visit. After which we will have a preliminary hearing in his case among ourselves." "You must not go alone, monsieur," said Adamas. "How can we be sure that this indisposition is not feigned, and that the knave has not laid some trap for you, being warned by his conscience?" "You are talking nonsense, my dear Adamas. Even if he killed my brother, he certainly never knew his name, since he remains under my roof without uneasiness." "But look at this dagger, my dear master! You have not yet looked at this proof." "Alas!" said Bois-Doré, "do you think that I can examine it dispassionately?" Lucilio advised the marquis to see his guest before pursuing his investigations, so that he might be sure of being calm enough to conceal his suspicions. Adamas allowed the marquis to go; but he glided close on his heels to the door of the Spaniard's apartment. D'Alvimar was really ill. He was subject to nervous sick-headaches of great violence, which were often brought on by paroxysms of anger, and he had had more than one of the latter in the course of the day. He thanked the marquis for his solicitude and begged him not to put himself out on his account. He needed nothing more than careful diet, silence and rest until the following day. Bois-Doré withdrew, telling Bellinde, without obtruding, to see to it that his guest lacked nothing; and he took advantage of this visit to examine the features of old Sancho, to whom he had previously paid no attention. The former swineherd, tall, lean and sallow, but wiry and muscular, was sitting in a deep window-recess, reading by the last rays of daylight a religious book from which he never parted, and which he did not understand. To spell out with his lips the words in that book and to tell his beads mechanically, such was his principal occupation, and, apparently, his only pleasure! Bois-Doré glanced furtively from the master lying stretched out on the bed, with an air of utter prostration, to the calm, stern, devout servant, whose monkish profile was outlined against the window. "These are not highwaymen," he thought. "What the devil! this fair, slender young man, with an eye as soft as a girl's--To be sure, this morning when he was angry with the gypsies, and yesterday when he inveighed against the Moors, his expression was less benignant than usual. But this old esquire with the Capuchin's beard, who is so profoundly engrossed in his religious book--To be sure, there is nothing so like an honest man as a knave who knows his business! No, my penetration is insufficient in this matter, and we must weigh all the facts."