"I believe you," Yeux-gris answered. "You have an honest face. You came
into my house uninvited. Well, I forgive it, and invite you to stay. You
shall be my valet."

"He shall be nobody's valet," Gervais cried.

The gray eyes flashed, but their owner rejoined lightly:

"You have a man; surely I should have one, too. And I understand the
services of M. Félix are not engaged."

"Mille tonnerres! you would take this spy--this sneak--"

"As I would take M. de Paris, if I chose," responded Yeux-gris, with a
cold hauteur that smacked more of a court than of this shabby room. He
added lightly again:

"You think him a spy, I do not. But in any case, he must not blab of us.
Therefore he stays here and brushes my clothes. Marry, they need it."

Easily, with grace, he had disposed of the matter. But I said:

"Monsieur, I shall do nothing of the kind."

"What!" he cried, as if the clothes-brush itself had risen in rebellion,
"what! you will not."

"No," said I.

"And why not?" he demanded, plainly thinking me demented.