t, and withal no friend to me.

"I had rather you fetched Vigo," I said.

"Oh, Vigo will not come. He is with Monsieur. If I bring M. Constant, it
is the best I can do for you."

I had recovered myself sufficiently by this time to remember the nature
of lackeys, and gave the messenger the last silver piece I had in the
world. He regarded it contemptuously, but pocketed it and departed in
leisurely fashion up the stairs.

The other was not too grand to cross-examine me.

"What sort of news have you? Do you come from the king?" he asked in a
lowered voice.

"No."

"From M. de Valere?"

"No."

"Then who the devil are you?"

"Felix Broux of St. Quentin."

"Ah, St. Quentin," he said, as if he found that rather tame. "You bring
news from there?"

"No, I do not. Think you I shall tell you? This news is for Monsieur."

"It won't reach Monsieur unless you learn politeness toward the
gentlemen of his household," he retorted.

We were getting into a lively quarrel when Constant appeared on the
stairway--Constant and the lackey who had fetched him, and two more
lackeys, and a page, all of whom had somehow scented that something was
in the wind. They came flocking about us as I said:

"Ah, M. Constant! You know me, Felix Broux of St. Quentin. I must see M.
le Duc."

Constant's face of surprise at me changed to one of malice. Down at St.
Quentin he had suffered much from us pages, as a slow, peevish old
dotard must. I had played many a prank on him, but I had not thought he
would revenge himself at such time as this. He looked at me with a
spiteful grin, and said to the men:

"He lies. I do not know him. I never saw him."

"Never saw me, Felix Broux!" I cried, completely taken aback.

"No," maintained Constant. "You are an impostor."

"Impostor! Nonsense!" I cried out. "Constant, you know me as well as you
know yourself. I say I must see the duke; his life is in danger!"

Constant was paying off old scores with interest.

"An impostor," he yelled shrilly, "or else a madman--or an assassin."

"That is the truth," said some one, laying a heavy hand on my shoulder.

I turned; two men of the guard had come up, my friend of just now and my
foe of the morning. It was the latter who held me and said:

"This is the very rascal who sprang on Monsieur's coach-step in the
morning. M. Lucas threw him off, else he might have stabbed Monsieur. We
were fools enough to let him go free. But this time he shall not get o