My brain was full of previous suspicion thrice magnified; all that was mysterious in this man came back to me; the message I had surprised at Canterbury ran echoing through my head again and again.

Yet I bent myself to the task of listening, resolute to catch every word.

Alas, my efforts were in vain! M.de Perrencourt was of different clay from his Grace the Duke.

He was indeed speaking now, but so low and warily that no more than a gentle murmur reached my ears.

Nor did his gestures aid; they were as far from Monmouth's jovial violence as his tones from the Duke's reckless exclaiming.