‘You do not understand, Monseigneur. My parents went to live in Anjou when I was a baby. We had a farm at Bassincourt, auprès de Saumur. And – and we lived there until my parents died.’
‘Did they die simultaneously?’ inquired Justin.
Léon’s straight little nose wrinkled in perplexity.
‘Monseigneur?’
‘At one and the same time.’
‘It was the plague,’ explained Léon. ‘I was sent to Monsieur le Curé. I was twelve then, and Jean was twenty.’
‘How came you to be so much younger than this Jean?’ asked Justin, and opened his eyes rather wide, so that Léon looked full into them.
A mischievous chuckle escaped Léon; he returned the piercing stare frankly.
‘Monseigneur, my parents are dead, so I cannot ask them.’
‘My friend –’ Justin spoke softly. ‘Do you know what I do to impertinent pages?’
Léon shook his head apprehensively.
‘I have them whipped. I advise you to have a care.’
Léon paled, and the laugh died out of his eyes.
‘Pardon, Monseigneur. I – I did not mean to be impertinent,’ he said contritely. ‘My mother had once a daughter who died. Then – then I came.’
‘Thank you. Where did you learn to speak as a gentleman?’
‘With M. le Curé, Monseigneur. He taught me to read and to write and to know Latin a little, and – and many other things.’
Justin raised his eyebrows.
‘And your father was a farmer? Why did you receive this extensive education?’
‘I do not know, Monseigneur. I was the baby, you see, and the favourite. My mother would not have me work on the farm. That is why Jean hates me, I think.’
‘Possibly. Give me your hand.’
Léon extended one slender hand for inspection. Justin took it in his, and surveyed it through his eyeglass. It was small, and finely made, with tapering fingers roughened by toil.
‘Yes,’ said the Duke. ‘Quite a pretty member.’
Léon smiled engagingly.
‘Quant à ça, you have very beautiful hands, Monseigneur, I think.’
The Duke’s lips quivered.
‘You overwhelm me, my child. As you were saying, your parents died. What then?’
‘Oh, then Jean sold the farm! He said he was made for greater things. But I do not know.’ Léon tilted his head to one side, considering the point. The irrepressible dimple appeared, and was swiftly banished. Léon eyed his master solemnly, and a little nervously withal.
‘We will leave Jean’s capabilities out of the discussion,’ said Justin smoothly. ‘Continue your story.’
‘Yes, Monseigneur. Jean sold the farm, and took me away from M. le Curé.’ Léon’s face clouded over. ‘Monsieur wanted to keep me, but Jean would not have it so. He thought I should be useful. So of course monsieur could do naught. Jean brought me to Paris. That was when he made me –’ Léon stopped.
‘Go on!’ said Justin sharply. ‘That was when he made you – ?’