"We do not love him. But we do not plot his death. He goes his way
unharmed by us. We are gentlemen, not bravos."

"And Lucas?"

"Lucas is my cousin's enemy, and, being a great man's man, skulks behind
the bars of the Hôtel st. Quentin and will not face my cousin's sword.
So to reach him takes a little plotting. Do you believe me?"

I looked into his gray eyes, that had flashed so hotly in my defence,
and I could not but believe him.

"Yes, monsieur," I said.

He regarded me curiously.

"The duke's life seems much to you."

"Why, monsieur, I am a Broux."

"And could not be disloyal to save your life?"

"My life! Monsieur, the Broux would not seek to save their souls if M.
le Duc preferred them damned."

I expected he would rebuke me for the outburst, but he did not; he
merely said:

"And Lucas?"