human
Boussac, you have shown to-night the true metal you are made of. Listen to me; hark to a secret; though first you must assure me you will never divulge to any one that which I tell you until I give you leave. Will you promise?
gpt
Ay, replied Boussac.
human
I will. Whereon he stretched out his own hand, drawing off first the great riding gantlet he wore, and said,
gpt
There's my hand. And with it the word of a brother soldier, of a mousquetaire.
human
So be it, taking the offered hand in his own.
gpt
Listen. I believe that I am the Duke de Vannes.
human
What! exclaimed Boussac,
gpt
Stop there, Boussac. I can suppose what you are going to say. To ask if my mother was--well, no matter. But be sure of this: if I am what I think, I am his lawful son. His heir, and myself a De Vannes, the De Vannes.
human
But 'what you think!' 'what you believe yourself to be!' Do you not know?
gpt
No. I may be his son, I may in truth be only Monsieur St. Georges. Yet--yet--this attack on me and mine points to the presumption that I am what I believe myself to be. The cavalry soldier, St. Georges, and his helpless babe would not be worth waylaying, putting out of existence forever. De Vannes's heir would be.
human
Only--again--you do not know. Does not a man know whose son he is?