“I was over at Colorno yesterday, and listening--not to him, you may be sure, but to one who observes things, and reports to me in confidence. See clever Hyacinth laugh to himself there, as if he guesses who that someone may be. This Hyacinth of ours, monsieur, has a marvellous gift for detecting smoke by its smell. Put his fat nose above a hearth, and ten to one he will instruct you presently where the fire burns. That is not the case with her Highness’s governess, whom we may certainly commend for an old fool--saving her marquisate. She cannot see an inch beyond _her_ nose in any direction; and, when it comes to smoke, a man may blow it in her eyes in the name of flattery, and she will go blind rather than not accommodate him.” The duke, still staring with a perplexed expression and still silent, made a gesture to have the letter returned to him. Receiving it from la Coque’s hands, he sat awhile studying and frowning over its opening sentences. Presently he looked up. “I find no shadow of justification here,” he said, “for such an innuendo.” “What innuendo, monsieur?” “That--that----” Don Philip rose suddenly to his feet, angry excitement in his eyes. “Are you daring to imply that this man is capable of such a mad abuse of his mission?” La Coque, his lids stretched, his chin hanging, looked the picture of stupefied innocence. “Why, what can your Excellency mean?” he said. “What did _you_ mean, sir, by your art with a little a?” “Nothing whatever, but that I do not rate the chevalier’s capacity for music so high as you do.” “And that was all?” “What else, in heaven’s name?” “You suggest that he blinds the marquise’s eyes--to what?” “O, to nothing in particular!” “I insist upon knowing.” “Your Excellency overwhelms me. The mere thoughtless speculation of an idle mind. I put two and two together, not even considering that, according to some people, they do not necessarily make four.” “Come, explain yourself.” “Why, her Highness, by what we hear, is not, and very sensibly, moved by this man’s meretricious Art--with a big A; and yet she is moved by his art.” “Well?” “Well, monsieur?” “You suggest a personal interest?” “I suggest nothing--nothing whatever.” “Who was your informant?” La Coque smiled, and shook his head.