M. le Général Marquis de Kersaint and M. le Comte de Brencourt supped together that evening. The latter was no longer a treasure-hunter; he was M. de Kersaint’s second-in-command, and he had been out of touch with his leader and the organisation of Finistère for some weeks. He had to be initiated into the present state of Royalist affairs in the department, and there were also a quantity of other matters to discuss: the proposed Anglo-Russian landing at the Texel, and how it would affect the West, how much weight Pichegru’s name would carry when he appeared as a Royalist, and as ever, the difficulties created by the vacillating conduct of the Comte d’Artois’ advisers.
And over their meal they did discuss these, but, as they were neither of them men to waste words on a situation, they got through pretty quickly, and towards the end of the repast the Comte was able to gratify the curious desire he now seemed to have to talk about Mirabel.
“A monstrous fine place, you know, Marquis,” he observed for the second time, refilling his glass.
“Is it?” said M. de Kersaint with indifference.
“Well, you must realise that it is!” retorted the Comte. “You speak as if you had never seen it.”
“If that is so, then, parbleu, you have an astounding memory for topographical details! The accuracy of the plan of the interior you made for me was astounding, considering that you had only been there once.”
“I never said, surely, that I had only been there once.”
“Your pardon, then. You gave me to understand as much, I thought, when you drew me the plan.”
“Did I? I have no recollection of having said so, for as a matter of fact I must have been there quite three times in my life.”
The Comte smiled curiously. “Your plan becomes less miraculous then. But even so, the owner or someone must have conducted you into every hole and corner on the ground floor.”
To this deduction M. de Kersaint made no response. The Comte drank off a glass of wine, and then, just perceptibly taking a breath as one addressing himself to a plunge, said, “Did you ever see the Duchesse during any of your—three visits?”
“No,” replied the Marquis, his eyes on the stem of his wineglass. “She was not there. She was often elsewhere. They had several other properties.”