“You think the devil hath instructed me, or that I am the devil,” he said. “It is not so, madame. I have lately been in Paris. I have kept my eyes and my ears open. Moreover, I happen to have come across Mademoiselle Lambertine--to have heard her story--to have known how she contemplated a descent on England. Add to this that, looking from the window some hours ago, I saw the girl (‘_parmi d’autres paons tout fier se panada_’--you know the fable, madame?) walking in your company; add that the public generally hath an interest in the Chevalier d’Eon’s reputation, and I, at least, in that of my uncle; add, perhaps, that a sick man’s brain is abnormally acute, especially when exercised over the causes predisposing to his malady; add that I have revolved these matters in my head as I lay here, and pieced them together in the manner presented to you, and upon my honour I think I have afforded you the full explanation.” The chevalier rose. She had round her throat a thin band of black velvet that looked stretched almost to the snapping-point. “_Je crois bien_,” she said; “and you have missed your vocation--you are lost to the secret sairveece, monsieur.” “Certainly,” said Ned. “I am quite unable to lie.” She answered, unaffected, and with recovered gaiety-- “I take, then, monsieur his word that he shall not interfere.” She added, shaking her finger at him-- “Nevaretheless, it is not all as you say, but it is a good guess of half measures.” “Very well,” said Ned, with entire composure. “And that being understood, perhaps madame will take up the one victim to her ardour, and leave the other to his convalescence.” He bowed very politely, and lay down with his face to the wall. She gazed at him a moment, with an expression compound of perplexity and lively detestation; then, reclaiming De Querchy, went from the room fondling the little broken corpse. CHAPTER XX. During the short course of his restoration to vigour, Mr Murk, indulging that power of self-abstraction that was constitutionally at his command, gave himself no further concern about his uncle’s affairs, paramorous or political. His resolving of the Chevalier d’Eon’s little riddle of intrigue was, perhaps, an achievement less remarkable than it appeared to be. His own knowledge of my lord’s partial boon-companionship with the Prime Minister at Putney, and the notoriety of a particular kind that attached to the chevalier’s name, coupled with the more or less perilous gossip he had heard abroad, had winged the shaft that had--something to his surprise--struck so near home. Now (having proved to his satisfaction his own percipience), in the conviction that the artifice of this _intrigante_ was destined to procure of itself nothing but a political abortion, he rested tranquilly, and devoted his spare--which was all but his meal--time to trying to play the harp.