But it is my wife who has the fever." "Your--!" Garnache dared not trust himself to utter the word.
"My wife, monsieur," the Marquis repeated.

"The journey proved too much for her, travelling at the rate she did." A silence fell.

Garnache's long chin sank on to his breast, and he stood there, his eyes upon the tablecloth, his thoughts with the poor innocent child who waited at Condillac, so full of trust and faith and loyalty to this betrothed of hers who had come home with a wife out of Italy.
And then, while he stood so and Florimond was regarding him curiously, the door opened, and the host appeared.
"Monsieur le Marquis," said he, "there are two gentlemen below asking to see you.

One of them is Monsieur Marius de Condillac." "Marius ?" cried the Marquis, and he started round with a frown.
"Marius ?" breathed Garnache, and then, realizing that the assassins had followed so close upon his heels, he put all thoughts from his mind other than that of the immediate business.

He had, himself, a score to settle with them.