I learn most things readily," Andre-Louis commended himself.
"For the rest: I possess the other qualifications. I am young, as
you observe: and I leave you to judge whether I am wrong in assuming
that my address is good. I am by profession a man of the robe,
though I realize that the motto here is cedat toga armis."
M. des Amis smiled approvingly. Undoubtedly the young man had a
good address, and a certain readiness of wit, it would appear. He
ran a critical eye over his physical points. "What is your name?"
he asked.
Andre-Louis hesitated a moment. "Andre-Louis," he said.
The dark, keen eyes conned him more searchingly.
"Well? Andre-Louis what?"
"Just Andre-Louis. Louis is my surname."
"Oh! An odd surname. You come from Brittany by your accent. Why
did you leave it?"
"To save my skin," he answered, without reflecting. And then made
haste to cover the blunder. "I have an enemy," he explained.
M. des Amis frowned, stroking his square chin. "You ran away?"
"You may say so.
"A coward, eh?"
"I don't think so.
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