"Our movements are known." And he nodded his head in the direction of the Tuileries.

I made no doubt that all, indeed, was known in that quarter, but the fatalist who planned and schemed there would meet these men the next day with his gentle smile, betraying nothing.
As my interest became aroused by these proceedings, I became aware of the Vicomte's close scrutiny.

It seemed that he was watching me--noting the effect of every speech and word.
"You were interested," he said, casually, as we drove home smoking our cigars.
"Yes." He looked out of the carriage window for some time, and then, turning, he laid his hand on my knee.
"And it is not a game," he said, with his little laugh, which somehow sounded quite different--less senile, less helpless.

"It is not a game, my friend!".