Читать книгу Sir Isumbras at the Ford - D. K. Broster - Страница 10

Down in the hall de Flavigny was speeding the last of his guests. The Chouan went back into the deserted dining-room to wait for him. Standing in front of Janet de Flavigny's picture he looked up at her. He had never seen her in life, for his friendship with her husband was only some two years old, and owed its rapid growth partly, no doubt, to just the right amount of dissimilarity of character between them. Of tougher fibre than his friend, and of a disposition less openly sensitive, Fortuné de la Vireville, who had known more than his share of knocking about the world, had something of an elder brother's protective attitude towards him, though de Flavigny was only three years younger than himself. It was this which was causing him to wait for the Marquis now.

"Shut the door a moment, René, will you," he said, as his friend came back. "How is it that the domestics seem to know so much about your future movements? Mrs. Saunders has just considerably surprised me by telling me that you are going away."

The Marquis looked at him and bit his lip. "I suppose," he said, after a moment, "that I must have said something to Baptiste about preparing my valise in case I went. But Baptiste, of course, is above suspicion."

"Granted. But he repeated that order, not unnaturally perhaps, to the other servants."

"There is no great harm in that," replied de Flavigny, with a smile. "It is not a piece of information of much interest to anyone outside the house, and is not therefore likely to be conveyed elsewhere."

"Ah, pardon me, mon ami," interposed the Chevalier de la Vireville quickly, "you underrate your importance. There are people who would find it quite interesting if they knew of it—our dear compatriots of the Committee of Public Safety in Paris, for instance. And they have spies in the most unlikely places."

"But not in this house," said René, throwing himself into a chair.

"Perhaps not," agreed his friend. "I should certainly not suspect Elspeth or that Indian of M. votre beau-père of selling information. As to the others, I do not know."

M. de Flavigny was perfectly right; there was no spy in Mr. Elphinstone's house at the moment. He did not know that the unsatisfactoriness of the destitute French lad, whom Mr. Elphinstone (out of the kindness of his heart and on Baptiste's suggestion) had seen fit to engage for some obscure minor office in the kitchen regions, had that day reached such a culminating point as to lead to his summary dismissal, and that he was at that very moment preparing to carry his unsatisfactoriness and other useful possessions—including a torn-up letter in de Flavigny's handwriting—to some destination unknown.