He regarded Gervais with a rueful smile, his thoughts of a sudden as far
away from me as if I had never set foot in the Rue Coupejarrets. He
shook his head, sighing, and said, with a hand on Gervais's shoulder:
"It's beyond you, cousin."

Gervais brought him back to the point.

"Well, I've done what I could for you. But you don't help me when you
let loose a spy to warn Lucas."

"He shall not go. You know well, cousin, you will be no gladder than I
when that knave is dead. But I will not have Félix Broux suffer because
he dared speak for the Duke of St. Quentin."

"As you choose, then. I will not touch a hair of his head if you keep
him from Lucas."

Once more he turned away across the room. My bewilderment was so great
that the words came out of themselves:

"Messieurs, is it Lucas you mean to kill?"

Yeux-gris looked at me, not instantly replying. I cried again to him:

"Monsieur, is it Lucas or the duke?"

Then Yeux-gris, despite a gesture from Gervais, who would have told me
nothing I might ask, exclaimed:

"Why, Lucas!"