"My name is Roje Breuc, and I am a native of Alsace. I ran away from my home in Strasbourg to seek adventure early last July. I have since been following the road with a journeyman-doctor whom I met with in Le Havre." He then went on to describe the Doctor's murder that evening and how a rascally teacher, named Joseph Fouché, who acted as an informer to the police, was attempting to pin the murder on to him.
The coach had meanwhile crossed the river Vilaine by the single bridge in the centre of the town, passed the Cathedral of St. Pierre and entered the Rue St. Louis. Halfway along the street it halted, until at the shouts of the footmen a pair of great gates in a high wall were thrown open, so that it could drive into a spacious courtyard.
Roger just had time to say: "May I know the name of the beautiful young lady to whom I owe my life?" when the coach pulled up before a broad flight of steps leading up to a heavily carved pair of double doors.
"I am Athenais de Rochambeau," the girl replied, "and this is the H6tel de Rochambeau, the town house of my father, the Marquis."
On the footman opening the door Roger sprang out and handed her down. The double doors of the mansion had now been opened and, going up the steps together, they entered a wide, lofty hall. It was paved with marble, and a splendid horseshoe staircase of elaborate iron scrollwork, picked out with gold, led to a landing, then divided again to sweep towards the upper floors. At either side of the doorway stood three tall footmen with powdered wigs and dressed in the same violet and gold livery as the lackey who had accompanied the coach. They stood there like statues, rigidly immobile, but a seventh servant, considerably older and dressed in a more sombre livery than the others, came forward, bowing almost to the ground before Mademoiselle de Rochambeau.
"The coach is to return to the Rue de Nantes, to pick up Madame Velot, Aldegonde," she told him. "Meanwhile, take this gentleman somewhere where he can tidy himself, then bring him to the small salon. He is to dine with us." Without deigning to glance at either the major-domo or Roger, she lifted the front of her full skirts a little and tripped upstairs as lightly as a bird.
Monsieur Aldegonde gave Roger one swift glance of appraisal, noted that his clothes were of cloth, which now showed the wear of his eleven weeks' wanderings, and that he wore no sword, gave the very faintest sniff of disapproval, and bowed very slightly, as he said: "This way, Monsieur. Please to follow me."
He led Roger between two of the eight great pillars that supported the gallery round the hall and threw open a door concealed in the panelling under one side of the staircase. It gave on to a small room in which there was a marble washbasin, towels and a variety of toilet articles laid out on the shelves of a shallow recess.
Roger washed, combed his hair and brushed down his clothes. As he did so, he wondered with some misgivings what would happen next. He was still shaken and immeasurably distressed by the old Doctor's death, and he knew that he had only escaped capture by a piece of remarkable good fortune. But he was now acutely anxious as to what view Mademoiselle de Rochambeau's father would take of the matter. Would he support his beautiful little daughter's highhanded action or promptly hand his unexpected visitor over to the police?
Having made himself as presentable as possible Roger came out and waited for some time in the hall until, eventually the major-domo returned and led him upstairs. The whole of the first floor appeared to be one long suite of rooms, each being of splendid proportions and magnificently furnished, their walls hung with Gobelins tapestries and the parquet of their floors polished to a mirror-like brilliance. After passing through two of them the major-domo ushered him into a third, somewhat smaller than the other two and panelled in striped yellow silk.
As the door opened Roger nerved himself to meet the Marquis, but at the first glance he saw that he was not yet called upon to face this ordeal. There were four people in the room; an elderly Abbé with graceful white locks falling to the shoulders of his black cassock; a portly woman of about forty, well but soberly dressed; Mademoiselle Athenais and a handsome boy who, from his features, appeared to be her brother.
Athenais waved a little white hand negligently towards the woman: "Madame Marie-Ange Velot, my governess, whom we left behind in the Rue de Nantes; and this is my brother, Count Lucien de Rochambeau."
Roger made a leg to the woman then bowed to the boy, who returned his bow a little stiffly. The young Count's features were in the same cast as his sister's but distinctly heavier, his eyes, although also blue, lacked the brightness of hers, and both his nose and mouth were much thicker. Roger put him down as about two years younger than himself, and formed a first impression that he was of a somewhat sullen nature and dull-witted. However, with formal politeness, Count Lucien said:
"I have not the pleasure of knowing your name, Monsieur," and added, half-turning towards the priest, "but I should like to present you to my tutor, Monsieur l'Abbé Duchesnie."
As Roger and the Abbé exchanged salutations Athenais said, quickly: "Monsieur is one, Rojé Breuc, a native of Strasbourg. As I was telling you, they are after him for a killing. I have given orders that he is to dine with us, and over dinner he shall entertain you with his story."
At this announcement the governess and the Abbé exchanged a somewhat disturbed glance and the little Count, eyeing Roger's clothes disdainfully, said in a haughty voice: "Was it necessary to invite Monsieur to eat with us, sister? Surely Aldegonde could have attended to his wants, and he could have told us his story afterwards."
"Hold thy tongue, little fool," replied the girl, tartly. "Thou would'st do better to spend more time studying thy books and less in thinking of thy sixty-four quarterings."
But evidently Madame Marie-Angé Velot was of the boy's opinion as she said: "I hardly think, Mademoiselle, that Monseigneur your father would approve."
"My father, Madame, is in Paris," snapped Athenais. "And in his absence I am the best judge of what takes place here."
"Even so, Mademoiselle," hazarded the Abbé, "I feel sure Monsieur Breuc would find himself more at home below stairs, and I support the suggestion that he should be conducted there."
Athenais stamped her small foot. "I'll not have it, I found him; and he is mine, to do what I will with!"
Roger, now flushed with mortification at this unseemly wrangle as to if or no he was fitted to eat at their table, was about to declare hotly that he was an English gentleman and as good as any of them, when he was saved from this imprudence by the door opening to disclose Monsieur Aldegonde, who cried in a loud voice:
"Monsieur Le Comte et Mademoiselle sont servis!"
Athenais looked at Roger and said with extraordinary dignity in one so young: "Monsieur Breuc, your arm, if you please."
With his most courtly bow he proffered it to her; then, following the pompous Aldegonde, who held aloft a six-branched silver candelabra to light them, they traversed the big rooms again and crossed the landing to enter a lofty dining-room. At the table in it five places were laid and behind the chair set for each stood one of the tall footmen. Athenais took one end of the table, motioning Roger to a seat on her right, while her brother took the other. The Abbe1 said a short grace and the meal began.
The dishes were lighter and more varied and sumptuous than anything that Roger had encountered in England, but his good table manners soon showed the Abbé and Madame Marie-Ange that they had been wrong to judge him by his worn cloth suit as fitted only to eat downstairs in the kitchen, and both of them began to regard him with more friendly attention.