CHAPTER XXX
A GUID CONCEIT OF MYSELF LEADS ME FAR ASTRAY
Clancarty and Thurot were playing cards, so intent upon that recreationthat I was in the middle of the floor before they realised who it wasthe servant had ushered in.
"_Mon Dieu! Monsieur Blanc-bec! Il n'y a pas de petit chez soi!_" criedThurot, dropping his hand, and they jumped to their feet to greet me.
"I'll be hanged if you want assurance, child," said Clancarty, surveyingme from head to foot as if I were some curiosity. "Here's your exploitsringing about the world, and not wholly to your credit, and you mustwalk into the very place where they will find the smallest admiration."
"Not meaning the lodging of Captain Thurot," said I. "Whatever myreputation may be with the world, I make bold to think he and you willbelieve me better than I may seem at the first glance."
"The first glance!" cried his lordship. "Gad, the first glance suggeststhat Bicetre agreed with our Scotsman. Sure, they must have fed you onoatmeal. I'd give a hatful of louis d'or to see Father Hamilton, forif he throve so marvellously in the flesh as his secretary he must looklike the side of St. Eloi. One obviously grows fat on regicide--fatterthan a few poor devils I know do upon devotion to princes."
Thurot's face assured me that I was as welcome there as ever I had been.He chid Clancarty for his badinage, and told me he was certain all alongthat the first place I should make for after my flight from Bicetre (ofwhich all the world knew) would be Dunkerque. "And a good thing too, M.Greig," said he.
"Not so good," says I, "but what I must meet on your stair the veryman-"
"Stop!" he cried, and put his finger on his lip. "In these parts we knowonly a certain M. Albany, who is, my faith! a good friend of your own ifyou only knew it."
"I scarcely see how that can be," said I. "If any man has a cause todislike me it is his Roy--"
"M. Albany," corrected Thurot.
"It is M. Albany, for whom, it seems, I was the decoy in a business thatmakes me sick to think on. I would expect no more than that he had goneout there to send the officers upon my heels, and for me to be sittinghere may be simple suicide."
Clancarty laughed. "Tis the way of youth," said he, "to attach far toomuch importance to itself. Take our word for it, M. Greig, all France isnot scurrying round looking for the nephew of Andrew Greig. Faith, andI wonder at you, my dear Thurot, that has an Occasion here--a veritableOccasion--and never so much as says bottle. Stap me if I have afriend come to me from a dungeon without wishing him joy in a glass ofburgundy!"
The burgundy was forthcoming, and his lordship made the most of it,while Captain Thurot was at pains to assure me that my position was byno means so bad as I considered it. In truth, he said, the police hadtheir own reasons for congratulating themselves on my going out of theirway. They knew very well, as M. Albany did, that I had been the catspawof the priest, who was himself no better than that same, and for thatreason as likely to escape further molestation as I was myself.
Thurot spoke with authority, and hinted that he had the word of M.Albany himself for what he said. I scarcely knew which pleased mebest--that I should be free myself or that the priest should have acertain security in his concealment.
I told them of Buhot, and how oddly he had shown his complacence to hisescaped prisoner in the tavern of the Duke of Burgundy's Head. At thatthey laughed.
"Buhot!" cried his lordship. "My faith! Ned must have been tickled tosee his escaped prisoner in such a cosy _cachette_ as the Duke's Head,where he and I, and Andy Greig--ay! and this same priest--tossed manya glass, _Ciel!_ the affair runs like a play. All it wants to make thisthe most delightful of farces is that you should have Father Hamiltonoutside the door to come in at a whistle. Art sure the fat old man isnot in your waistcoat pocket? Anyhow, here's his good health...."
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CHAPTER XXXI.
THE BARD OF LOVE WHO WROTE WITH OLD MATERIALS