AT ODDS
  WITH THE REGENT


[Illustration: RICHELIEU THREW HIMSELF AT HER FEET
  AND CAUGHT HER HAND                    Page 335]




  AT ODDS
  WITH
  THE REGENT

  A STORY OF THE CELLAMARE
  CONSPIRACY

  BY
  BURTON EGBERT STEVENSON

  WITH A FRONTISPIECE BY
  ANNA WHELAN BETTS

  [Illustration]

  PHILADELPHIA AND LONDON
  J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
  1901




  COPYRIGHT, 1900, BY
  J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY


  _Electrotyped and Printed by
  J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia, U.S.A._




  TO
  E. B. S.

  WHO HAS JOURNEYED
  WITH ME SO MANY
  TIMES TO THE LAND
  OF MAKE-BELIEVE




CONTENTS


  CHAPTER                                  PAGE

      I. AN ENCOUNTER WITH CARTOUCHE          9

     II. THE SALON OF MADAME DU MAINE        22

    III. A LITTLE LESSON IN POLITICS         34

     IV. A DUEL AT MID-DAY                   50

      V. A DESPERATE VENTURE                 65

     VI. A SURPRISE FOR MAISON-ROUGE         83

    VII. AT THE DRYAD FOUNTAIN               98

   VIII. AN AUDIENCE WITH THE REGENT        122

     IX. THE CONSERVE CLOSET                140

      X. THE REGENT SCORES A POINT          154

     XI. THE HOUSE IN THE RUE VILLEDOT      167

    XII. A CONFERENCE WITH CELLAMARE        181

   XIII. AT THE THÉÂTRE-FRANÇAIS            199

    XIV. THE GAME OF PRISONER’S CHASE       220

     XV. RICHELIEU STANDS HIS GROUND        234

    XVI. A DAY OF FRUITLESS EFFORT          249

   XVII. THE REGENT SHOWS HIS HAND          263

  XVIII. A RIDE THROUGH THE NIGHT           279

    XIX. D’ANCENIS TELLS THE STORY          294

     XX. THE SECRET STAIRCASE               312

    XXI. WHERE HONOR WINS                   327

   XXII. AT THE PALAIS ROYAL                341

  XXIII. THE REGENT’S GRATITUDE             355

         A LAST WORD                        364




AT ODDS WITH THE REGENT




CHAPTER I

AN ENCOUNTER WITH CARTOUCHE


Night had already come as I drew my cloak more closely about me and
stepped forth into the street. I had lingered long over my meal, as
a man will who has been alone all the day and sees little chance of
companionship before him. For in all the city I knew no one, and there
seemed small prospect of the night bringing any enjoyment with it. I
turned to the left, away from that dingy house in the Rue Bailleul,
which was the only home I had thus far found in Paris, determined to
forget, for a time at least, its narrow entrance leading to the dirty
interior court, where a thousand odors struggled ceaselessly for
mastery; the dark staircase mounting steeply upward, and the close
little room, which a single week’s occupancy had sufficed to render
loathsome to me. Ah! it was different from the wide, sweet valley of
the Loire.

At the outset of my career in Paris I had been confronted by a problem
which demanded immediate solution. I might lodge well and dress poorly,
or I might dress well and lodge poorly, but I had not money enough
to do both well. After mature deliberation, I had chosen the latter
course and expended my money upon my wardrobe, reasoning that all
the world would notice my attire, while no one would penetrate to my
lodging. My neighbors in the Rue Bailleul had not yet recovered from
the astonishment with which my advent had filled them, and still gazed
wonderingly and suspiciously after me whenever I chanced to pass.

So I strode through the night away from that shabby garret, and as I
went I thought somewhat bitterly of the high hopes I had brought with
me to the city a week before,--hopes of adventure and glory, after
the fashion, doubtless, of every youth who came to Paris from the
provinces. But a week had passed without adventure, and as for glory,
it seemed farther away than ever. In faith, those same hopes were about
my only possession, a fact brought painfully to my attention when I
had opened my purse ten minutes since to pay my score, and something
must needs happen soon or--well, I had seen a man taken from the Seine
the day before and his face seemed peaceful. At least, I would never go
back to the narrow life which I had always hated.

A splash into a pool of mud brought me out of my thoughts. I stopped
and looked about me, but did not recognize the street, which seemed a
very squalid one. The dilapidated wooden buildings with their plastered
fronts tottered together over my head. A putrid stream filled the
central gutter, giving forth an odor which reminded me forcibly of the
court below my window. I started to retrace my steps and return to a
more inviting quarter of the city, when a hand was laid suddenly upon
my shoulder.

“Ah, monsieur,” said a pleasant voice, “you seem to have lost your way.”

“’Tis not a difficult task in Paris,” I replied, and as I did so, threw
off the man’s hand and stepped quickly back to have my sword arm free
in case of need.

“I should be pleased to conduct monsieur wherever he might wish to
go,” continued the voice, the face of whose owner I tried in vain to
distinguish.

“A thousand thanks,” I answered. “If monsieur will tell me the shortest
way of reaching the Rue St. Denis I need trouble him no further.”

“With pleasure. Take the first street to the right, then onward three
blocks, and monsieur is there,” said my strange companion; and then as
I turned away, “There is one formality which monsieur has overlooked.”

“And what is that?” I questioned, sharply.

“Monsieur’s purse. No gentleman ever leaves the presence of Cartouche
with his purse in his possession.”

“And is this Cartouche?” I asked, more to gain time than for any other
reason, for light as my purse was, I could ill afford to part with it,
even to the most famous thief in Paris.

“Assuredly,” answered the fellow, and he held out his hand with an air
of nonchalance which exasperated me. Cartouche’s fame had travelled
far, and he had spoken truth when he said that all men with whom he
talked left their purses with him, yet I was in mood for an adventure,
and reflected that a man were better dead than penniless.

“I fear that you will have to break your rule in this instance,
monsieur,” I said, after a moment’s silence, during which his attitude
had lost nothing of its gay assurance. “The contents of my purse are of
infinitely greater value to me than they can be to you. Hence I must
beg leave to retain it.”

“Does monsieur count the cost?” he asked, quietly.

“Fully,” I answered, and, leaping back a pace, drew my sword and stood
on guard. At the same instant he placed a whistle to his lips and blew
one shrill blast. I heard the sound of hastening footsteps, and half a
dozen blackguards, who had doubtless been concealed near by, were upon
me, while Cartouche stood calmly to one side and watched the conflict.
The foremost ran on my sword as upon a spit, and as he fell with a
single, sobbing cry, I stepped back against the wall, prepared to give
the others a warm argument. Yet I knew I must be overpowered in the
end by sheer weight of numbers, and it was reputed that Cartouche had
only one penalty for resistance. For some minutes I managed to keep the
space in front of me clear, running one of the scoundrels through the
shoulder before they saw they had a swordsman to deal with and retired
to a safer distance. I heard windows near by opening, and looked for
assistance from that direction, but in a moment they were closed again.
Evidently no one dared interfere with Cartouche.

Then back at me his rascals came, all together, and evidently counting
on overwhelming me in the rush, as, indeed, I thought they must do.
Another fellow felt the point of my sword in his thigh, but matters
were growing desperate, for I had myself been stabbed in the arm and
was fast becoming winded. This was hotter work than I had ever done.

“What have we here?” suddenly rang out a new voice above the clash of
swords. “An honest gentleman beset by knaves? A moment, monsieur, and I
am with you.”

I discerned a dim figure running towards us, a sword flashed in the
air, and its owner was at my side against the wall. He saw that I
needed time to breathe and made play in front of me, while I stood
with my mouth open, gasping like a fish. But it was only for a moment,
and I was back in the fray again. That moment’s rest had given me time
to see that my companion was a master of fence, and when the need to
shield me was past and his blade was free to thrust, he ran one of
the thieves through the breast without more ado. This reduced their
number to three, and they gave back a little, evidently appalled at our
swordsmanship.

“A pistol-shot!” cried one of the rogues to Cartouche. “A pistol-shot!
’Twill settle the business quickly.”

With an indescribable gesture Cartouche drew his pistols from his belt.

“So let it be,” he said. “Your deaths on your own heads, my braves,”
and my heart stood still as I heard him pull back the triggers.

“Come!” I cried to my companion; “charge him. We cannot remain here to
be shot down like dogs.”

He responded with a merry laugh.

“Why, this is better than the Comédie,” he said, speaking for the first
time since he had entered the fray. “It thrills the nerves and makes
the heart beat high. But all things must end, and so, M. Cartouche, I
think it would be just as well to put up your pistols and call your
scoundrels off. You will get no purses here this evening.”

“De Richelieu!” cried Cartouche; and then in a tone of deepest
concern, “Believe me, M. le Duc, I did not recognize you in the
darkness, nor did I know this gentleman to be a friend of yours, else
this would not have happened.”

“Enough, enough,” laughed my companion, as Cartouche’s men slunk back
into the gloom. “A man could not recognize his mistress on a night
like this. My friend and I bid you adieu,” and sheathing his sword
and motioning me to follow, he turned away without once looking back.
I admit that for my part I lacked his assurance, and more than once
glanced over my shoulder to make certain that I was not about to
receive a stab in the back. But my fears were seemingly groundless, for
I saw no more of Cartouche or his men.

It was not until we reached a more frequented street that I turned my
thoughts to my companion. I glanced at him with no little curiosity,
for I knew the young Duc de Richelieu by reputation, as, indeed, did
every other gentleman in the kingdom, yes, and all the ladies, too.
A grandnephew of the Great Cardinal, he resembled in many ways that
intrepid and indomitable man. A fine swordsman, gallant lover, and
brave gentleman,--that is what report said of him,--and I could wish no
better epitaph upon my gravestone, should I ever merit one. I saw a
straight, slight, handsome man of twenty-two or three, with blue eyes
and smiling lips. His hat was worn well down over his forehead and his
cloak pulled negligently about his chin, as though he knew the need of
disguise and yet disdained to use it, which in the end I found to be
the case. There was something strangely familiar in the face, but I
banished the thought in a moment, for I knew very well that I had never
before met the Duc de Richelieu.

We walked for a time in silence, and as I glanced at him again I
recalled with amusement the story of his _début_ at Marly, seven or
eight years before, when Madame de Maintenon had pronounced him “the
dearest doll in the world.” He had found favor with the ladies from the
first, and, so the story ran, had made such violent love to the Duchess
of Burgundy that he was dismissed from the court and sent home under
guard, together with a lettre-de-cachet which had compelled his father
to take him to the Bastille, where he had been imprisoned more than a
year. The story had been repeated in all four corners of the kingdom,
and his reputation was made from that moment. I could not but admit
his comeliness, and of his courage I had already sufficient proof. With
this man for a friend, I reflected, even a youth from the provinces
might go far. My arm was giving me some pain where it had been wounded,
but I managed to bind my handkerchief about it under my cloak and
determined that it must wait a more convenient season for attention. It
was Richelieu who broke the silence.

“’Twas fortunate I had some business in this quarter of the town
to-night and chanced to pass this way,” he said, with a light laugh.
“Cartouche is an old friend of mine. I did him a service once,--saved
him from the wheel, in fact,--and since then he has been kind enough
not to trouble me or my friends; a forbearance which they greatly
value, and which may account, in part, for my having so many. You
perhaps heard him call my name and so know who I am. May I ask whom I
had the honor of rescuing?”

“In faith, it was no less than a rescue,” I answered, warmly, “for the
rogues had me all but overcome. I am Jean de Brancas, at your service,
M. le Duc.”

“Jean de Brancas?” and Richelieu glanced at me with a little air of
surprise. “You are from Poitiers?”

“Yes, from Poitiers,” I answered, looking at him with astonishment.
“But may I ask how you know that, monsieur?”

“And you are new to Paris, I suppose?” he continued, smiling and
disregarding my question.

“I came here but a week ago, monsieur.”

“May I ask for what?” and he smiled yet more broadly. “But I do not
need to ask. It was for adventure, was it not? So many youths come here
for that; and though most of them find adventures in great number, they
are seldom to their liking.”

“That is my case precisely, monsieur,” I said, “with the exception of
this evening, which is greatly to my liking.”

“Perhaps I may find you more of the same kind,” and his face darkened
grimly. “There are many such, if one but knows where to look for them.
May I ask concerning your family, monsieur?”

“My father died a week before I started for Paris,” I answered, simply.
“My mother had preceded him to the grave by two years. I had no
brothers nor sisters.”

“Ah,” he said, not unkindly, “and what heritage did your father leave
you?”

“An honorable name, his sword and some skill in wielding it, monsieur,”
I answered, proudly.

“Heritage enough for any gentleman of spirit,” cried the duke,
heartily. “In truth, M. de Brancas, I think we shall be friends.”

“My heritage is at your service, monsieur,” I said. “I could ask no
better employment for it.”

“’Tis done,” and Richelieu laughed gayly. “Here, strike hands upon it.
Henceforth M. de Brancas is the friend of Richelieu. He will use his
heritage in Richelieu’s service. And in return Richelieu will see that
M. de Brancas has many chances to use this heritage and to make good
returns upon it. Is it agreed?”

“With all my heart!” I cried, and we paused to clasp hands, to the
infinite astonishment of the passers-by.

We had traversed a number of streets as we had talked, whose names I
did not know, but I saw that we were entering a better quarter of the
town. A moment later, we came out in front of a long row of stately
buildings which I knew to be the Tuileries. At one of the pavilions,
which seemed more brilliantly lighted than the others, the duke
entered, and, as I hesitated, bade me enter with him.

“There is no need to postpone your appearance upon the future scene
of your adventures,” he said, as we crossed the wide vestibule, the
lackeys on either side bowing before him. “Besides, we will tarry but a
moment. We are both somewhat travel-stained, ’tis true, but that will
count rather in our favor than against us, for men of action have come
into fashion with the need for them, and one good swordsman is valued
more highly than a dozen poets.”

My eyes caught the sumptuous details of the place as we ascended the
broad staircase, where many people were hurrying up and down, all
apparently upon some business. But none of them was too hurried to bow
to my companion as to a person of importance and to glance curiously at
me.

“And what is this place we are about to enter?” I asked, as we paused
at the stair-head.

“It is the salon of Madame du Maine,” said Richelieu, and in another
moment we had entered the brilliant room.




CHAPTER II

THE SALON OF MADAME DU MAINE


It was with no little interest that I looked about me, for the salon
of the Duchess du Maine was one of the most famous in France. My
first impression was one of disappointment, for the scene was less
striking than I had thought to find it. Groups of people were scattered
here and there down the long room, and at the farther end a little
court was gathered about a lady whom I did not doubt was the duchess
herself. There were few other women present, a circumstance which
greatly astonished me, and the men had a singular diversity of dress
and manner, betokening that it was no ordinary motive which had drawn
them together from so many ranks of life and so many strata of society.
It needed but a glance to tell me that these were not wits and beaux,
but, in Richelieu’s words, men of action. Nearly every one looked up
as we entered with, as it seemed to me, a vague air of fear, but this
vanished instantly when they saw that Richelieu was my companion.

“Ah, Mlle. de Launay,” said the duke to a young lady who hastened to us
from the nearest group, “I trust fortune is using us as we could wish?”

“Yes, fortune is with us still, M. le Duc,” she answered, smiling
brightly. “Indeed, the justice of our cause seems to have inspired an
unaccustomed constancy in that fickle dame, and she has decided to stay
with us to the end.”

“I hope it may be so.” And then, turning to me, “Permit me to present
my friend M. de Brancas, a young man of stout heart who comes from
Poitiers to seek adventure in Paris, and who, I see, has already fallen
a victim to your bright eyes.”

“In faith, ’twould take a much stouter heart than mine to resist them,”
I protested, bowing over the hand she gave me, “and I wager mine is not
the first they have made captive.”

“Oh, but the fickleness of men!” exclaimed the girl, smiling at me not
unkindly. “To-day their hearts are broken, to-morrow they are quite
healed, I know not by what wondrous surgery. I believed that in the
Chevalier de Rey I had at last found a constant man, but even he is
failing me, for his affection is decreasing regularly in a geometrical
ratio.”

“A geometrical ratio, mademoiselle?” cried Richelieu. “And pray how do
you show that?”

“’Tis very easily shown,” and her eyes were sparkling with mischief.
“You know it has been the custom of M. de Rey to accompany me home from
the salon of Madame de Tencin on such occasions as I have been there
recently, and in the course of the journey we are compelled to cross
the Place des Victoires. In the first stages of his passion M. de Rey
would walk me carefully around the sides of this square in order to
make the journey longer, but as his affection gradually cooled he took
a more direct course, until, last night, he simply traversed it in
the middle. Hence I conclude that his love has diminished in the same
proportion which exists between the diagonal of a square and its sides.”

“Quod erat demonstrandum!” cried Richelieu. “I have never heard a
geometrical proposition explained more clearly. But come, I have a
word to say to madame and must introduce my _protégé_ to her. You will
excuse us, mademoiselle?”

I should not have been sorry to remain longer where I was, but I
promised myself to seek her again before the evening closed. Richelieu
was kept busy bowing to right and left as we traversed the length of
the room, but he did not pause, though obviously many would have been
grateful for a second’s conversation with him. In a moment we reached
the group at the farther end, which separated as we approached and
opened a way to the duchess.

“Ah, Richelieu!” she cried, as soon as she perceived him; and holding
out her hands to him, “I am glad to see you, and hope you bring good
news.”

“I trust you will think it such, madame,” replied Richelieu, and he
bent over her hand and kissed it.

A curious gleam illumined the gaze she bent upon him.

“You have, then, decided?” she asked, in a voice which she endeavored
vainly to compose.

“I am at madame’s service now and always,” and he bowed again with a
certain sternness in his face and without raising his eyes.

The duchess went red, then white, and her eyes were like twin stars. I
dimly realized that she had won a great victory. An excited whispering
behind me told me that others had understood better than I.

“I thank you, M. le Duc,” she said, when her emotion permitted her to
speak. “Believe me, your devotion shall not be forgotten.”

“But I have forgotten something, madame,” cried Richelieu, gayly,
as though putting the subject behind him. “This is my friend M. de
Brancas, who has offered his sword in my service.”

“And in madame’s, should she ever have need of so feeble an
instrument,” I added. I felt rather than saw the questioning glance she
shot at Richelieu over my bowed head and the affirmative nod he gave in
reply.

“M. de Brancas is welcome,” she answered, graciously, “and his generous
offer shall be remembered. But you must excuse me, gentlemen,” she
continued, turning to the group, which had withdrawn to a little
distance, but which yet could hear every word that passed. “I have much
to do and must leave you. M. Chancel, will you kindly tell Mlle. de
Launay that I wish her to join me in the course of half an hour?”

I gazed with unfeigned interest after this remarkable woman as
she walked away, for that remarkable she was I very well knew. A
granddaughter of the Great Condé, she had been compelled by Louis XIV.
to marry the Duke du Maine, his eldest son by Madame de Montespan, an
alliance which the house of Condé had regarded as a disgrace, but which
it was powerless to prevent. This disgrace had been somewhat mitigated
in 1714, when the king had issued a decree legitimating the duke and
declaring him competent to succeed to the throne in the failure of the
legitimate line, a decree which had awakened lively dissatisfaction
among the other noble houses, who were jealous of their precedence,
and which had been the subject of no little comment even at Poitiers.
Madame du Maine had at once taken a position commensurate with this
new honor, and her salons at Sceaux and at the Tuileries were known by
reputation from the Pyrenees to the Meuse.

I had seen at a glance that she was not beautiful. Her figure was
almost infantile in its proportions, and a slightly deformed shoulder
destroyed its symmetry. Her mouth was large and her other features
irregular, but this was more than counter-balanced by the beauty and
brilliancy of her eyes. I, who had seen them blaze under the magic
of Richelieu’s words, would certainly never forget them. It was
Richelieu’s voice which aroused me from my thoughts.

“I see the people interest you, de Brancas,” he said, “and well they
may, for it is seldom indeed that one room contains so many worth
attention. That gentleman whom the duchess has just sent on an errand
to Mlle. de Launay is Lagrange Chancel, whose philippics have driven so
many thorns into the side of the regent. For myself, I confess I deem
the sword a better weapon of warfare than the pen, but each has its
uses. That man over there in black and with the air of a bourgeois is
de Mesmes, president of parliament, through whom we hope to be able to
do great things.”

“Great things?” I asked. “I do not understand, monsieur.”

“You will in time,” he answered, smiling. “Till then have patience.
Yonder handsome churchman is the Cardinal de Polignac, who affects to
be absorbed in a new Latin poem, but who is really interested only in
politics, and in whom I have little faith. There is Malesieu, madame’s
tutor, who was wont to bore us nearly to death reading the tragedies
of Sophocles when the Honey Bees met at Sceaux. There is the Abbé
Chaulieu, whose age cannot dim the brightness of his wit nor lessen the
lightness of his heart. And there is Saint Aulaire, whose eighty years
do not prevent him entertaining a hopeless passion for the duchess, but
who knows nothing of politics and cares less, and who, consequently, is
no longer in favor.”

“But, monsieur,” I protested, “even I can see that this is no ordinary
salon. These are not wits nor poets. They are not disputing. They are
not even gossiping. They are talking in undertones. They have an air of
I know not what,--of plotting, of intrigue,--some of them even of fear.”

“You have come dangerously near the truth, my friend,” and Richelieu
glanced about to see that no one heard. “They do intrigue, they are
plotting, and some of them do fear.”

“But what are they plotting? Whom do they fear?” I questioned,
determined to get to the bottom of this riddle if I could.

Again Richelieu glanced about him, and at that moment Polignac touched
him on the arm.

“May I have a word with you, M. le Duc?” he asked.

“Certainly,” answered Richelieu, though I saw he was not pleased at the
interruption. “Excuse me a moment, de Brancas,” and the two stepped
to one side, engaged in earnest conversation. I glanced about me,
and seeing that Mlle. de Launay was making her adieux preparatory to
joining her mistress, hastened to her side.

“You are already famous, M. de Brancas,” she cried, as I approached
her. “Richelieu has dropped a word of it. Believe me, it is not every
one who cares to cross swords with the rogues of Cartouche, or who
values his purse more highly than his head. Perhaps you had some
keepsake in yours, monsieur, which made it doubly precious,” she added,
mischievously.

“No, mademoiselle,” I answered; “and yet, I was loath to part with it,
else I should have had no proper receptacle in which to place that
ribbon which you wear in your hair and which you are going to give me
presently.”

“Oh, am I?” she exclaimed, as her hand mechanically sought her hair and
she looked into my eyes. “Well, take it,” and she handed me the ribbon.
“Such audacity deserves reward. No one would for a moment suspect you
were from the provinces, M. de Brancas,” she added.

“Indeed, mademoiselle, I forget it myself when you are speaking,” I
answered, and she laughed merrily and bade me adieu, while I placed the
ribbon in my purse, simulating a passion which I confess I did not feel.

But I watched her pass across the room as I had watched the duchess,
for both were unusual women, and the maid’s fame was, if anything,
greater than that of the mistress. Mlle. de Launay possessed little
beauty, as I had seen for myself, and she was of obscure birth,
the daughter of a painter, it was said, of whom no one had ever
heard. But the abbess of a convent in Normandy had discovered the
child somewhere--beside her drunken father in a bottle-house, most
likely--and had taken a liking to her and given her a refuge in the
convent. She had received a brilliant education, and oddly enough, had
preferred the exact sciences to belles-lettres. Of her predilection for
geometry I had already had proof. But the abbess died and she had been
forced to leave the convent. Through the influence of friends she had
secured the position of femme du chambre to Madame du Maine, which
she had been compelled to accept to keep from starving, and it was
from that position that she had risen, by sheer force of character, to
be one of the brightest lights of the gay court at Sceaux. Every girl
in the kingdom knew the story and had resolved to profit by it, but
few had the wit to do so. It was again Richelieu who broke in upon my
thoughts.

“A remarkable woman, is she not, monsieur?” he asked, following my
eyes. “Few have yet measured the height of her talents, and no one has
sounded the depth of her heart. But come, let us go. You are to lodge
with me to-night, for I have many things to say to you.”

“Nothing would please me more, M. le Duc,” I answered, warmly, thankful
for any chance which postponed my return to the Rue Bailleul and
delighted at the prospect of entering the Hotel de Richelieu. He led
the way towards the door, and as he repassed the people scattered about
the room I remarked a new expression on their faces. They turned to
look at him as they had done before, and not one failed to return his
bow, but their manner was not the same. It seemed to combine respect
and contempt, admiration and disapproval. The duke appeared not to
notice it, yet he avoided any pretext for stopping, as though he
did not wish to enter into a conversation which might easily become
disagreeable. It was evident to me, however, that the hidden meaning of
the words which he had exchanged with the duchess was known to all the
persons in the room, and that they knew not whether to blame or praise.
I, also, was to learn their meaning before the night was out.

We paused in the vestibule, Richelieu wrapping his cloak about his face
and pulling his hat down over his eyes. He bade me do the same, and
in another moment we were in the street. We mingled quickly with the
crowd which, even in winter, thronged the gardens of the Tuileries, and
turning towards the river, crossed it by the Pont Royal.




CHAPTER III

A LITTLE LESSON IN POLITICS


The Duc de Richelieu at that time occupied a magnificent hotel in the
Rue des Saints Pères. The house, which had been pointed out to me as
one of the sights of Paris, was in the form of a hollow square,--a form
which had become very popular for buildings of this kind,--the open
side of the square fronting the street and being closed by a high wall.
Just back of the Hotel de Richelieu, on the Quai Malaquest, stood the
famous Hotel de Bouillon, and next to it the equally famous Hotel de la
Roche Sur Yon, the three together forming one of the most imposing and
interesting quarters of the city, and one which I had had little hope
of inspecting except from the outside.

Richelieu led the way along the quay at a rapid pace, seemingly
absorbed in thought. I, also, had much to occupy my mind. There were
two questions which vexed me and to which I could find no answer. How
did Richelieu know I was from Poitiers, and what was the purpose of
that curious assembly in the salon of Madame du Maine? I was still
pondering on these, when we turned into the Rue des Saints Pères and
stopped before a wall in which was a small postern.

“We will enter here,” said Richelieu, and he took a key from his
belt and opened the gate. We passed through, and he locked the gate
carefully behind him.

The garden in which we found ourselves, and which I saw to be the great
central court, was dark, and only a suspicion of light glimmered here
and there through the closed shutters of the house. Richelieu led the
way to a door in the west wing, which he opened as he had the gate,
and also locked after we had entered. Then with a gesture commanding
caution he passed along a hall and up a narrow stair, unlocked another
door, and ushered me into a room where a candle was burning dimly on
a table. By its light I could see that the room was of some size and
richly furnished, and through an open doorway I caught a faint glimpse
of other apartments beyond.

“There!” exclaimed Richelieu, with a sigh of relief, “we are safe,”
and he flung his cloak and hat into a corner and dropped into a
chair, motioning me to do likewise. “As you doubtless know, it is
sometimes desirable to be thought at home when one is really abroad,
and that was the case this evening. No one saw me leave, no one saw me
enter, hence I was here all the while and could have had no hand in
whatever has happened in the mean time. But, man, are you wounded?” he
asked, suddenly, observing, as I removed my cloak, the blood-stained
handkerchief about my arm.

“Only a scratch, monsieur,” I answered. “A little water and a clean rag
will repair the damage.”

He was on his feet in an instant, and in a few minutes the wound was
washed and bound up, so that it gave me no further concern, and,
indeed, need not again be mentioned.

“There will soon be need of long swords and strong arms such as yours,”
observed the duke, settling down again into his chair. “Here, drink
this,” and as he spoke he poured out a glass of wine from a bottle
which stood on the table at his elbow. “’Twill do you good. I would
not have anything happen to impair that arm of yours, for, as I saw
to-night, it knows how to wield a sword to some purpose. How time
passes!” and he looked at me with an expression of kindly interest.
“It seems hardly possible that you can be little Jean de Brancas, of
Poitiers.”

He smiled as he saw my eyes widen in questioning amazement.

“Ah, yes, I had forgotten,” he said. “You do not yet know how I guessed
you were from Poitiers. I will tell you a little story which may
explain it. Some six or seven years ago there was a boy who was in
disgrace.” He paused a moment and smiled to himself, as at the memory
of some boyish prank. “So it was decided that he should be sent to the
Château d’Oleron for a time, to get the sea air and incidentally to
think over his sins. He set out from Paris in a great coach, with no
companion but his tutor. In order that there might be no scandal the
trip was to be made incognito. They had horrible weather, the rain
falling incessantly, and by the time they reached Poitiers the Clain
was swollen to a torrent. They were told that the river could still be
forded a mile below the town, so they drove to the place pointed out to
them and the coachman whipped the horses into the water. In a moment,
as it seemed to the boy within, the horses were beyond their depth and
the coach was lifted from the bottom and swept off down the stream. It
seems that they had attempted to ford in the wrong place.”

“Yes, yes,” I murmured, “I begin to understand.”

“Let me finish my story,” and Richelieu stood beside me and placed his
hand upon my shoulder. “The driver was so terrified that he dropped the
reins. The tutor seemed paralyzed with fright. The boy was struggling
vainly to open the door and get out of the carriage, when he heard a
cry of encouragement, and looking through the window, he saw another
boy, two or three years younger than himself. This boy was on a horse,
which he was forcing through the water. In a moment he was at the head
of one of the coach horses; he caught its bridle, and turning his own
horse across the stream, compelled the others to follow. Almost before
those within realized his purpose the horses reached firm ground and
pulled the coach out after them upon the other bank.”

I would have spoken, but Richelieu silenced me with a gesture.

“The boy in the carriage opened the door and leaped out,” he
continued. “He ran to the other boy and caught his hand.

“‘’Twas bravely done!’ he cried. ‘I know no one else who would have
dared it.’

“But the boy on horseback merely smiled.

“‘It was a little thing to do,’ he said, and the other boy noticed that
he was plainly dressed.

“‘But you shall be rewarded,’ and he pulled his purse from his pocket.

“The boy on horseback grew very red and drew himself up proudly.

“‘You mistake me, monsieur,’ he said. ‘I do not want your money.’

“The other boy grew red also at that and put back his purse.

“‘At least tell me your name,’ he asked. ‘I shall never forget your
name.’

“And the boy on horseback smiled again.

“‘My name is Jean de Brancas,’ he said, and the other boy could see
that he was proud of the name. And just then his tutor came and
separated them, but as the coach drove away he leaned far out of the
window and waved his hand to the other boy.

“‘Good-by, Jean!’ he cried. ‘We shall meet again some day, and then it
will be my turn.’”

Richelieu paused for a moment, and I felt that my eyes were wet.

“So you see,” he continued, “I had reason to be pleased this evening
when I heard that it was Jean de Brancas to whom I had been of service,
and whom I intend to keep by my side. For I was the boy in the coach,
and I remember that ride through the river as though it had happened
yesterday.”

“And I also remember it, M. le Duc,” I said, “and the boy who sprang
from the coach and who thanked me so prettily has been my beau ideal
from then until this day. I questioned many people, but no one knew
him. I have dreamed of him many times, and in my dreams it was always I
who was at his right hand, aiding him to win a thousand battles, even
as you aided me to-night.”

“And that is where I would have you,” cried Richelieu, “and where you
shall be henceforth.”

We were both more moved than we cared to show, for the memory of that
boyish exploit was sweet to both of us, and a little silence followed.
It was Richelieu who broke it.

“There are many things afoot in Paris,” he said, in a graver tone, and
looking at me keenly. “But before I go further tell me, are you for
the regent or against him?”

“I am neither for nor against the regent,” I answered, promptly. “I am
for the king.”

“A wise answer,” and Richelieu smiled. “One that commits you to
nothing. But come, you may be frank with me. What do you think of the
Duke of Orleans?”

“The Duke of Orleans is quite indifferent to me,” I answered, readily
enough. “I have heard little about him, and none of that was to his
credit.”

“Well spoken!” cried Richelieu, heartily. “I see you will be with us.
Come, I will trust you with a secret, but first permit me to give you
a little lesson in politics. You say you know little about the regent.
Let me tell you something about him.”

Now, I was not quite so ignorant of passing events as Richelieu seemed
to think, yet I deemed it wise to keep my council and to hear these
things as for the first time.

“Philip, Duke of Orleans,” continued Richelieu, “is not rightfully
regent of France. Louis the Great’s will provided explicitly that there
should be a council of regency during the king’s minority, in which
Orleans should have only one vote. The real power was given to Louis’s
son, the Duke du Maine, but he stood idly by and permitted Orleans to
take up the regency almost unchallenged.”

“The more fool he,” I ejaculated, involuntarily.

“Right. The more fool he. But it is not for him we are going to fight.
At least, not directly. He is busy making a collection of snuffboxes
at Sceaux, and does not even know there is anything afoot. It is for
the Duchess du Maine. Ah, there is a woman! Not beautiful, perhaps, but
charming, and what a spirit! Orleans has not only assumed the regency,
he has also deprived the Duke du Maine of his right to succeed to the
throne. Again you say, that is his affair. True, but let us not forget
the duchess. Do you know what she did when she heard of that decree?
She was compelled to give up one of her apartments in the Tuileries in
consequence, but before leaving she smashed every article of furniture
in the room, and had to be carried away like a wounded general from a
battle-field where he had won a great victory. Mlle. de Launay told
me it was magnificent. In addition to all this, most of us have some
little private quarrel to settle with the regent, and will welcome this
opportunity to abase him. Well, what we propose to do is to take the
regency away from Philip of Orleans and to give it to Philip of Spain.”

“Philip of Spain!” I cried.

“Yes, Philip of Spain. Who has a better right? He is the king’s uncle,
the next in succession to the throne. And what is Orleans? He allows
Dubois to manage the state while he spends his time with his mistresses
at the back of the Louvre, there,” and Richelieu paused from sheer lack
of breath.

“That may be,” I managed to say, “but what chance of success can there
be?”

“Every chance,” cried the duke, rising from his chair and pacing
excitedly up and down the room. “All Brittany is with us, and will rise
to our support so soon as we choose to give the word. Half the nobility
of the kingdom, whom Orleans has neglected no opportunity to insult,
is with us. Alberoni, Philip’s prime minister, has collected troops.
They will soon be at the frontier ready to invade France and depose
the monstrous thing that governs it. Cellamare, Spain’s ambassador at
Versailles, has all the threads in his fingers and is almost ready to
strike. The train is laid and all that awaits is to apply the match.
That will soon be done, and you will see Orleans tottering from the
throne.”

“But does he not suspect?” I asked.

“Ah, that is the only thing,” and the light suddenly left Richelieu’s
face. “Sometimes I think he does, sometimes I believe he does not. It
is not Orleans himself I fear. He pays little heed to what is going on.
But Dubois and Hérault,--that is another story. They have the police
well organized. There are spies everywhere, and once or twice recently
I have fancied I was followed, but that may have been for another
reason. Indeed, the regent has no cause to love me.”

“And what is your part in this conspiracy, monsieur?” I questioned, for
I felt that there was still something left untold.

“Ah, my part,” said Richelieu, his brow clouding still more. “Well, I
will tell you, as I this evening told Madame du Maine. My part is to
see that my regiment does not resist the Spanish army, but surrenders
and opens to it the gates of Bayonne, the city where it is stationed,
just at the foot of the Pyrenees.”

“But that is treason!” I cried, astounded at this disclosure.

“Treason to the regent, perhaps,” answered the duke, calmly, “but not
to the king.”

So this was the victory the duchess had won! Well, she had reason to be
proud of it. And as I sat, too bewildered to say more, there came a tap
at the door, and Richelieu arose and opened it.

“Ah, Jacques,” he said, to the man who stood bowing on the threshold,
and who permitted none of his astonishment at seeing me to appear in
his face, “what is it?”

“A note, M. le Duc, delivered but a moment ago,” and he held out a tiny
missive. Richelieu seized it, eagerly scanned the address, and tore it
open with a hand trembling with excitement. He read its contents at a
glance, and his eyes were dancing with joy as he raised them to mine.

“You may go, Jacques,” he said to the lacquey; “I shall not forget your
promptness;” and then turning to me as the door closed, “Do you know
what this means, de Brancas? It means success in another affair dearer
to my heart than this conspiracy of Cellamare. Ah, the work that I have
done to secure this one little note,--the servants I have bribed, the
women I have cajoled, the disguises I have assumed! And here at last is
victory, for this says, ‘Be at the dryad fountain in the Palais Royal
gardens at ten o’clock to-morrow night.’”

“A rendezvous?” I asked.

“Yes, a rendezvous. But you could not guess with whom were you to guess
forever. Who do you think will be at the dryad fountain waiting for me
at ten o’clock to-morrow evening? Who but Charlotte d’Orleans, Mlle. de
Valois!”

“Mlle. de Valois!” I gasped. “The daughter of the regent! Why, man, you
must be mad,” and I gazed in astonishment at this youth of twenty-two
who while plotting against the father dared make love to the daughter.

“If you but saw her, de Brancas,” cried the duke, “you would say I was
far from mad. I fell in love with her the first time her eyes met mine.
That was at a ball given a month ago for the Duchess de Lorraine, when
the regent was celebrating her visit to Paris. You have never seen such
eyes, de Brancas. We rave over Madame du Maine’s eyes,--you have seen
them and know how wonderful they are,--but they fade as the stars fade
at sunrise when Charlotte d’Orleans appears. No, ’tis not a lover’s
rhapsody,” he added, seeing me smile; “there are none in the kingdom
to compare with them. Were this not so I should not so readily have
fallen victim, for I have gazed into many and many without a quickening
of the pulse.”

He stopped to read through the note again, and as he folded it and
placed it tenderly in his pocket I saw he was in earnest. Indeed, the
eyes must needs be beautiful which could so move the heart of this
seasoned courtier.

“But the regent,” I said, at last, “the regent. What thinks he of all
this? I had not thought him a friend of yours.”

“A friend of mine!” cried Richelieu. “De Brancas, if there is one
person in Paris whom he detests above all others, it is myself.”

“But then,” I began, and stopped. I had no wish to seem too curious.

“But then,” said Richelieu, pausing in his walk up and down the room.
“Go on, de Brancas. What would you say?”

“Then he does not know?” I asked. “You have met with obstacles?”

“Obstacles!” and Richelieu smiled at me with triumphant face.
“Yes,--such as most men would falter at. Imagine wooing a woman with
whom you can never speak,--who is kept from you as from the plague!
Ah, there was a problem, and one of the sort I love to solve. Why, de
Brancas, if her father suspected that I had in my pocket a note from
his daughter, he would have me back in a trice in my old cell at the
Bastille.”

He paused a moment and touched the note with trembling fingers.

“No, I could never exchange a word with her,” he went on, at last, “but
I made progress, nevertheless. Gold will work many miracles. Every
morning she found a note in a bouquet of flowers,--on her writing-desk,
on her dressing-table, on her embroidery-frame. Ah, how I cudgelled my
poor brain in writing those notes, pleading, passionate, despairing by
turns! At every ball, every concert, every fête where she was like to
be, there was I, and if I could not use my lips, at least I could use
my eyes. She looked at me first indifferently, then curiously, then
shyly,--and last night at the Opéra she blushed when her eyes met mine,
and I knew the battle won. To-morrow night I can speak to her. Ah, how
I shall make her love me!”

Well, he was worth loving. My eyes blur with tears even yet as I see
him again standing there, so glad, so straight, so gallant, and think
of what came after. If I were a woman, I know I should have loved him
heart and soul. Even as a man, ’tis little less than that.

“In affairs of the heart, as in affairs of state, my sword is at the
service of M. le Duc,” I said, no little moved, and again we struck
hands upon our compact, in which, I could not but think, it was I who
must reap the most advantage. For of what service could the sword of
an unknown youth of twenty be to Richelieu? And yet, as I was soon
to learn, even a humble sword when backed by a loyal heart may be of
service to the greatest.

Jacques was called and told to show me my apartment. What a contrast
it was to that den under the gutters in the Rue Bailleul! Richelieu
declared he would not part with me, and with some reluctance I gave
Jacques the address of my former lodging, that he might bring away my
wardrobe. That done, I was soon abed, turned to the wall, and slept a
sleep infinitely sweetened by this sudden change in my circumstances.




CHAPTER IV

A DUEL AT MID-DAY


I awoke betimes the next morning, but did not immediately arise. In
fact, I welcomed the opportunity to thoroughly review my position and
decide how best to steer my course. Here, then, was I, Jean de Brancas,
poor in everything but spirit, who, the day before, had been tramping
the streets of Paris friendless and well-nigh penniless, and who had
even thought of the Seine as a last place of refuge. Since then, by the
merest good fortune, which I had done little to merit, I had gained
the friendship of Richelieu, the man in all the kingdom whom I most
admired. I had been given entrance, if not to the society of Sceaux, at
least to the Paris salon of Madame du Maine. I had met Mlle. de Launay,
copies of whose witty letters had found their way even to Poitiers,
where I had read them until I knew them by rote. I had been admitted
to the secret of the Cellamare conspiracy, and this, I confess, rather
stuck in my throat. Open combat and the bright flash of swords I
would have welcomed gladly, but I had small relish for intrigue and
conspiracy and the considerations which sometimes make it necessary to
stab in the dark. And, in truth, I had little hope that the conspiracy
would succeed, for it seemed founded on selfishness, and the French
nation would forget its hostility to the regent once a Spanish army
was on its soil. Yet it mattered not to me who was regent, Philip of
Orleans or Philip of Spain, and I reflected that even if Richelieu
fell, he would not fall far. He had shown me kindness and good will,
and these I was determined to repay as best I could. At worst, I could
lose nothing but my life, and the prize was worth the risk.

It was late when I arose, but Richelieu had not yet appeared, and
I descended into the court, attracted by the busy life which I saw
there. An army of servants was running hither and thither, grooming
and exercising horses, cleaning harness, polishing the gilding on
half a dozen coaches, sprinkling clean, white sand along the walks,
sweeping and dusting the wide entrance, and doing a hundred other
things which attested the care and attention given to every detail of
the management of this great house. At one side of the court I was
surprised to see standing a coach to which two horses were harnessed.
The driver was on the box, and the equipage was apparently ready to
take the road at a moment’s notice.

“Does M. le Duc go abroad this morning?” I asked of a man who was
standing near.

“I really do not know, monsieur,” he answered, politely.

“For whom, then, is the coach waiting?” and I indicated it with a
gesture.

He glanced at me in surprise.

“Monsieur must be new to the hotel,” he said. “Whenever M. le Duc is at
home a carriage is kept waiting in the court, in case he might have use
for it.”

I turned away with a new understanding of the character and resources
of the remarkable man whose guest I was, and returned slowly to the
great reception-hall, where Jacques was awaiting me. Richelieu himself
appeared soon after, and I was relieved to find that his manner
preserved the hearty cordiality of the night before. I had been half
afraid--though I would not admit it even to myself--that the morning
might in some way bring disillusion with it and send toppling the
pretty castles which I had been building in the air. Breakfast was
soon served. We lingered over the meal, during which I gave the duke a
little history of my family, and noon was striking as we left the house.

“We go to the Café Procope,” said Richelieu. “It is in a new style
which is becoming very popular, and I fancy we shall find some one
there who can tell us the news of the court.”

We entered the carriage which was in waiting, drove out through the
central gate, the army of lacqueys bowing on either side, and across
Paris towards the Rue Saint Germain-des-Pres, where the café stood, and
which it bade fair to render one of the most fashionable quarters of
the city. The café had, as the duke said, inaugurated a new style, and
there was only one other in Paris at the time, the Café de la Regence,
whose name was sufficient of itself to keep my companion away from it.

A drive of ten minutes brought us to the suburb where the café stood,
and the throng of carriages before the door told of the crowd within. A
perfect babel greeted us as we entered, for it had become the fashion
for each person to do his best to out-talk his neighbors. We found with
some difficulty an unoccupied table, and Richelieu motioned me to a
seat while he took the one opposite.

“There is no coffee made in Paris which compares with that served
here,” he remarked, and as he summoned a waiter I looked about me.
The room was large, and was rendered even larger in appearance by the
numerous richly-carved mirrors which embellished the walls. Through an
open doorway at the back came the click of dice and much loud laughter.
Gayly attired parties were continually entering and leaving the private
cabinets, and trills of feminine laughter mingled with the harsher
voices of the men.

“Ah, de Rey,” cried Richelieu at that moment to a gentleman sitting at
the next table, “Mlle. de Launay was telling us a clever story at your
expense last night.”

“And what was it, may I ask?” questioned de Rey, a tall,
black-moustachioed man, whom I thought ungainly.

“She accuses you of fickleness in your love-affairs,” replied the duke,
and he related the geometrical sally.

“What would you have, monsieur?” cried de Rey, as the story was
finished, laughing as heartily as any one. “A man never knows to-day
whom he will meet to-morrow, and not knowing that, how can he be
certain whom he will love?”

While he was speaking three men had entered and taken seats at a
neighboring table. They commenced conversing in voices which seemed to
me unnecessarily loud, and I could not avoid overhearing them.

“Have you heard,” one of them asked, “of the disposition the regent is
to make of his daughter, Mlle. de Valois?”

I glanced at Richelieu and saw that he also had heard. His face was
white with anger, and I saw he knew the men and did not doubt that they
had come there purposely to insult him.

“Proposals for her hand have been received from the King of Sardinia,”
continued the speaker, “and the regent is only too glad to get rid of
the fair Charlotte. She seems destined to become even more troublesome
than Madame du Berri,” and the speaker laughed, with an insolent
note in his voice, and glanced meaningly in our direction. A sudden
stillness had fallen upon the crowd.

“By my word,” cried the other, looking full at Richelieu, “’twill be
bad news to a certain gentleman whose name begins with R, and who, I
have heard, has been dying of love for the Valois this month past.”

The duke was out of his chair in an instant, but I was before him.

“Monsieur will doubtless give me the pleasure of a moment’s
conversation outside?” I inquired, courteously.

“And who the devil may you be?” he asked, in an insolent tone.

“Perhaps this will tell you,” I cried, red with anger at the insult,
and I struck him fairly in the mouth with my open hand.

He leaped from his chair and drew his sword with a furious gesture,
nor did mine linger in its sheath. Tables were overturned, chairs were
thrown aside, and our swords had already engaged, when a little fat
man, with prodigiously long moustachios, came running up.

“Not in here, messieurs! Not in here, I beg of you!” he cried, wringing
his hands. “It would ruin my business should those devils of Hérault
ever hear of it.” I remembered that Hérault was lieutenant of police.

“He is right,” I said, dropping my point. “Let us adjourn to the
street, monsieur. There, at least, we shall injure no one but
ourselves.”

We had already commenced the combat, and I admit that I took my chance
in lowering my guard, but I was not prepared for the act of cowardice
which followed. For before I could recover myself I felt rather than
saw my antagonist thrust at me, and I involuntarily closed my eyes as
I waited to feel his sword in my flesh. But at that instant there came
a ringing clash of steel on steel, and I opened my eyes to see the
scoundrel’s weapon flying over the heads of the spectators.

“Ah, de Gare,” cried Richelieu, for it was he who had disarmed him,
“and yet you dare associate with gentlemen! If I gave you your deserts
I would run you through where you stand. But I prefer killing you
with your sword in your hand, so follow me to the street and we will
finish this argument. Stand back, de Brancas,” he continued to me,
as I attempted to interfere. “This is my quarrel. It was I whom they
insulted.”

The Comte de Gare, foaming with rage, picked up his sword and followed
to the street. The sentiment of the crowd was plainly with Richelieu,
and a moment later when I looked about for de Gare’s companions they
had disappeared. A ring of curious spectators formed around the two
men, and their swords were ringing together in an instant. Before a
moment passed I saw that de Gare had found his master. He realized it,
too, and his face went from red to white as he felt the duke’s iron
wrist and saw the implacable purpose in his eyes. Plainly it was only
the question of a few moments. The duke was playing with him, parrying
almost carelessly his savage thrusts, and advancing his own point
nearer and nearer to his heart. The onlookers waited with bated breath
for the thrust which they knew would be fatal.

“You shall see, gentlemen,” cried Richelieu, gayly, for his
self-possession had returned the instant he felt his adversary’s sword
against his own, “the proper way to deal with cowards. This fellow has
presumed to be seen in the company of gentlemen, and I am glad that
it was reserved for my sword to punish him. Ah, you break!” he cried
again, for the other had given back a step. I, who was standing at the
duke’s side, saw a kind of ferocity spring to life in de Gare’s eyes,
and I noticed that his left hand was no longer behind him, but was
concealed in the folds of his doublet. Something, I know not what, made
me suspect the man.

“Be on guard, monsieur!” I cried to Richelieu, “he means some
treachery,” and even as I spoke he drew forth his hand and threw a
poniard full at Richelieu’s heart. At the same instant, comprehending
de Gare’s purpose, I pushed Richelieu to one side. I felt a sharp, hot
pain in my right shoulder, and knew that the dagger had wounded me.
With a terrible cry Richelieu sprang forward, and fairly beating down
his guard, plunged his sword to the hilt in his breast. De Gare made a
desperate effort to keep his feet, grasped the sword, drew it from the
wound, and fell to the street, the blood gushing forth in a torrent. He
breathed convulsively once or twice, with the crowd looking down upon
him, his eyes glazed, a shudder ran through his body, and he was dead.

“Thus perish all cowards,” said Richelieu. And then, turning to me,
“You saved my life, de Brancas. ’Twas a brave act.”

“No more than you have twice done for me, monsieur,” I answered. “I
have only half paid my debt.”

“But you are wounded!” he cried, seeing that I held my handkerchief to
my shoulder and that it was red with blood. “The dagger struck you,
then? Let me see how serious it is,” and he was tearing the doublet
away from my shoulder ere I had time to protest.

“’Tis only a flesh wound, monsieur,” I said. “Pray do not trouble about
it.”

“Trouble about it, indeed. Come in here with me,” and he dragged rather
than led me into the café again. “Come, Maitre Delorme,” he cried to
the proprietor, who was still wringing his hands and bewailing the
destruction of his glasses, “bring me water and clean linen, and be
quick about it. Ah, here is one who will know how to dress the wound,”
he added, as a tall, clean-shaven man, dressed severely in black,
pushed his way through the crowd. “Upon my word, Levau, you come in the
nick of time. I have a patient for you,” and he turned me over to the
famous surgeon.

The latter in a moment had examined the wound, with puckered brow,
washed it in clean water, spread some cooling lotion upon it, which he
took from a case he carried in his pocket, and securely bandaged it.
Not till then did he deign to speak.

“A mere nothing,” he said, “for a man who has good blood in his veins,
as my friend here has. A little soreness for a week, perhaps, a
stiffness for a fortnight, and then only a memory.”

“Indeed, I am wondrous pleased to hear it,” said Richelieu, shaking his
hand warmly, and leaving a gold piece in it, I do not doubt. “But what
have we here?” and he turned towards the door, whence came a sudden
commotion.

“For the king!” cried a voice. “For the king! Make way, messieurs.”

“The regent!” exclaimed some one, and then a strange stillness fell
upon the place, save for Richelieu, who hummed one of Lulli’s gay airs.

The crowd parted to right and left, and I saw advancing towards us a
large, heavy-set man, with red face and eyes which seemed to run one
through.

“Who hath done this?” he cried. “Who hath killed the Comte de Gare, one
of my faithful friends?”

“To me belongs the honor, monsieur,” said Richelieu, in a cool voice,
but bowing low. “I regret to learn he was a friend of yours, for he was
a coward and a villain, and deserved to die by the rope, not by the
sword like a gentleman.”

The regent’s face turned from red to purple, and I looked to see him
rush upon Richelieu, and half drew my sword. But with an effort he
restrained himself, and his next words came in a voice strangely calm,
yet infinitely more menacing than any violence could have been.

“Ah, I have the honor of seeing the Duc de Richelieu, have I not? But
they tell me there were two men opposed to de Gare.”

“Monsieur,” cried Richelieu, “whoever said that lied. A friend of mine
interposed to save me from a treacherous dagger-thrust, which the
coward would have given me when he saw himself hard pressed.”

“And where is this friend, may I inquire?” asked the regent, looking
about with an ominous light in his eyes.

My hat was sweeping the floor in an instant.

“I have that honor,” I said.

“I do not know you, monsieur,” sneered Orleans, looking me over from
head to foot. “I should say, however, that you were from the country,
and I warn you that you have fallen into bad company. You would better
leave it.”

“I choose my own company, monsieur, and ask no one to do it for me,” I
answered, for the insolent look of the man had set my blood on fire. “I
desire no better than that I have already had.”

“Then by my faith you shall see more of it!” cried the regent, losing
his calmness in an instant. “Here, lieutenant,” he called to an officer
near the door, “bring in a squad of guards and arrest these men. I will
see if we are to have roistering and murder at mid-day in the streets
of Paris.”

“’Tis useless to resist,” said Richelieu to me in a low voice as I drew
my sword. “He will not dare use much severity.”

“Your swords, messieurs,” said the lieutenant of police, advancing
towards us at the head of a dozen men. Richelieu broke his over his
knee and threw it to the floor. I placed my foot on mine and snapped
the blade.

“To the Bastille with them!” cried the regent, beside himself with
rage. “You shall answer for them with your head, lieutenant, so take
care they do not escape.”

The officer simply bowed, but his cheek flushed with anger. We were led
to the street, where I saw the regent’s coach standing. As we emerged
from the café I caught a glimpse of two faces which seemed familiar,
and looking again, I recognized the men who had entered the place with
de Gare. I understood then how it happened that the regent had arrived
so opportunely. They had doubtless warned him of de Gare’s peril, but
too late to save his life.

A moment later we were mounted on two horses, and, surrounded by our
body-guard, galloped briskly away towards the Bastille, in which, I
reflected, I was like to find much less of comfort than in the palatial
Hotel de Richelieu. Yet a man must take the lean with the fat, and I
was far from repining.




CHAPTER V

A DESPERATE VENTURE


The troop of guards continued onward at a rapid pace, separating me
from Richelieu, so that I had no opportunity of exchanging a word with
him. In a few moments the threatening and gloomy walls of the Bastille
loomed ahead, towering over the Porte St. Antoine, and we drew up at
the outer gate. The lieutenant exchanged a word with the sentry there,
and after a moment the gates creaked back and we entered. I looked
about me curiously, for this was the first time I had ever seen the
interior of the most famous prison in France, though I had spent an
entire afternoon looking at it from the other side of the ditch.

We were in a long court, closed in by lofty walls, the prison itself
forming one side. We turned to the right, past some houses built
against the outer wall, which I decided were stables, and then the word
was given to dismount. Half a dozen guards surrounded us, a bell rang
somewhere, and in a moment a man in uniform hurried towards us,--a
little, dry man, with tight-shut lips, and eyes whose glance was like a
poniard-thrust.

“M. de Maison-Rouge,” said the lieutenant, saluting with great respect,
“I have here two prisoners, whom the regent confides to your keeping
with instructions to guard them well.”

“The instructions were unnecessary, monsieur,” replied the new-comer,
shortly. “No one who enters here ever leaves until it is permitted. Who
are the prisoners?”

“Ah, M. de Maison-Rouge,” cried Richelieu, gayly, “I trust you have not
forgotten me so speedily?”

The lieutenant-governor of the great prison glanced at the speaker
quickly, but his face remained impenetrable, and if he experienced any
surprise, he certainly did not show it.

“No, I have not forgotten you, M. le Duc,” he said, quietly. “And the
other?”

“Is my friend, Jean de Brancas,” answered Richelieu; and added,
smilingly, “It is, I believe, the first time he has had the pleasure of
meeting you.”

Maison-Rouge glanced at me coldly. I bowed, but I fear my face betrayed
the fact that I considered the meeting anything but a pleasure.

“Very well,” he said. “Wait a moment, lieutenant, and I will send you
a receipt for the prisoners. Follow me, messieurs,” he added to us,
and led the way to one of the buildings against the outer wall, which
proved to be his office. A sentry at the door saluted as we passed. A
receipt was written and given to him.

“Now, gentlemen,” said Maison-Rouge, as the door closed, “I must be
assured that you carry no weapons or means of escape into the Bastille
with you. Give me your word of honor to that effect and I will omit the
formality of search.”

“That is most courteous, monsieur,” cried Richelieu. “I give you my
word of honor gladly.”

“And I also,” I said. “My sword was my only weapon.”

“That is well,” and Maison-Rouge opened the door. “Follow me, then.”

Midway of the court a drawbridge grated down to let us pass and
creakingly rose behind us. Turning again to the right, we were
conducted along a still narrower court to a second gate, and passing
through this, paused before a second drawbridge, which was also lowered
to permit our passage. Still another gate was opened and clanged shut
after us, and we were in the great interior court. The afternoon sun
illumined it as brightly as it was ever illumined, and I perceived
two or three melancholy personages walking slowly up and down, each
in charge of a sentry, who followed closely with loaded musket and
permitted no word to be exchanged. Three lofty towers flanked the court
on either side. They were fully a hundred feet in height, as were the
walls between them, and the court itself was near a hundred feet long,
by perhaps seventy in width. We were led straight on across another
drawbridge into a second court, much smaller than the first, and which
resembled nothing so much as a gigantic well. As I afterwards found
out, it was, indeed, called the well court.

“I trust I may have my old room, monsieur,” observed Richelieu, as we
entered this forbidding place, which made my heart sink within me.

“I see nothing against it,” answered Maison-Rouge. “The Tower du Puits
is certainly strong enough to hold even the Duc de Richelieu.”

“That has been proved,” laughed the duke, “since it has already held me
for more than a year. I had no reason to complain of your hospitality,
monsieur.”

The governor smiled grimly, but said nothing. I wondered how my
companion could laugh so lightly in this horrible place.

“And you are not even curious to know what brought me here again?” he
continued, in the same tone.

“Some act of folly, I do not doubt,” said Maison-Rouge, his face
clearing a little. “You will never learn discretion.”

“Ah, but this is far less serious,” cried Richelieu. “Before, I
offended the prudery of Madame de Maintenon, who was trying to turn
Louis into a monk and the court into a priory. This time I have merely
killed one of the regent’s friends. The regent is a man, and will soon
forgive.”

“I trust so,” and Maison-Rouge glanced at him with the shadow of a
smile. “I have no reason to wish you ill, M. le Duc.” Evidently, the
winning good humor of my companion had touched even this enfortressed
heart.

There was a tower at either corner of the inner court, and it was
towards the one at the right that we were led. A door with double
bolts barred the bottom of the staircase. The governor threw them
back, opened the door, and motioned us before him. I heard the regular
step of a sentry in the corridor above, and we passed him at the first
landing. He paused to glance at us inquiringly, and then continued his
round. At the third landing, Maison-Rouge stopped before a heavy iron
door, threw back the bolts and pulled it open. Another inner door was
revealed, similarly bolted. This he also opened and held back.

“Ah, I am familiar with this room,” said Richelieu, smiling as he
passed into it. I started to follow him, but Maison-Rouge motioned me
back.

“What! you would separate me from my friend?” cried Richelieu.

“I regret that it is necessary, monsieur,” said the governor; “but it
is the rule, as you should know. He shall lodge in the calotte above
you.”

As he spoke I fancied I caught a flash of triumph in Richelieu’s eye,
but he made no sign.

“Good-by, then, my friend,” he said, and turned away towards the
double-barred window. The doors were clanged shut, the bolts thrown,
and I was motioned to mount to the floor above. I did so with a heavy
heart. With Richelieu I had some hope, but without him I felt hope to
be fruitless. Presently we paused before another door, double-bolted
like that on the floor below. Behind it, also, there was an inner door.
It was opened, I entered, and heard the bolts shot into place. As I
looked back at it I saw that in both doors, near the top there was a
narrow orifice through which the sentry in the hall could inspect the
cells as he passed and hear what was going on in them.

The calotte was well named, for it was a skullcap indeed. In the centre
there was room to stand upright, but the roof sloped on either hand
until at the walls it was scarce two feet from the floor. A bench, a
chair, and a rickety stove clamped to the wall comprised the furniture.

I threw myself upon the bench, when a sudden thought brought me to my
feet as by a spring. For this was the night upon which Richelieu was to
meet Mlle. de Valois. That he should fail to do so would be monstrous.
Escape, then, was necessary,--escape, not to-morrow or next week, but
at once, to-day, within six or eight hours at the uttermost. I groaned
aloud. How to escape from this infernal hole? I sprang to the window
and tried the bars. They were cemented fast into the masonry. The
strength of the door I already knew, and I ran over in my mind the
barred gates and raised drawbridges we must pass before we should be
without the walls. I gazed out through the bars at the broad country,
bright under the rays of the sun, and cursed the chance that had thrown
us here, upon this day of all days. I heard the regular step of the
sentry in the corridor, as much a prisoner as ourselves until the watch
was changed. It came nearer, paused before my door, and then retreated.
All was still.

Suddenly I heard a faint tapping as of some one endeavoring to signal
me. I looked around trying to locate the sound. I approached the corner
from which it seemed to come. It grew louder. I dropped to my knees and
crawled yet nearer the wall.

“De Brancas,” I heard a voice call, seemingly a great way off. “De
Brancas, are you there?”

“Yes, yes,” I panted. “But where are you, monsieur?” for I could not
believe that a human voice could penetrate these walls of stone.

“In the cell below yours, as you know,” replied the voice. “Do you
know we must escape to-night?”

“Yes, yes,” I answered again, still more astonished that I could hear
his voice so clearly. “The tryst at the dryad fountain.”

“You are a jewel, de Brancas!” cried the duke. “Yes, we must escape and
at once. There is no time to lose.”

“But to escape,” I said, “it is necessary to pass through seven barred
gates and across three raised drawbridges. That is no easy thing. Have
you a plan, monsieur?”

“A plan? No. But let me come to you and we will find a plan.”

“Let you come to me?” I cried, in amazement. “Gladly, but how?”

I could hear him laughing to himself.

“Did you think that I spent a year of my life here for nothing?” he
asked. “The slab at the corner of your cell is loose and can easily be
raised.”

I was panting with excitement. So this was how his voice could reach me!

“A moment!” I cried, and my fingers groped for the loosened slab. It
was soon found, but how to raise it was a question, for I could get
no hold of it. In an instant I had torn the buckle from my shoe and
inserted its edge into the crack. I pried the stone up, but a dozen
times it slipped back before I could arrest it. Finally I raised it
half an inch, grasped the edge with desperate fingers, and with an
effort which made my muscles crack tilted it up. I looked into the
hole, but could see nothing.

“The slab is out, monsieur,” I called.

“Good,” said Richelieu, and then there was an instant’s pause. “Now,”
he went on, at last, “as I raise this other stone do you slide it back
out of the way.”

In a moment it was done, and I found myself looking down into his eyes,
so near they almost startled me, for he had placed his chair upon his
bench and was standing on it.

“The guard will be back,” he said. “Bring your bench to the corner and
lie down upon it.”

I did as he directed, and saw that he had jumped down from his chair
and was walking carelessly about his cell. Again the sentry reached the
door, paused an instant to glance within, and then went on his round.

Richelieu was back upon his chair in an instant.

“Now,” he said, “I can pay you a ten minutes’ visit. I know the routine
of this place,” and he held out his hands to me. I reached down,
grasped them, and he scrambled lightly up beside me.

I began to think that, after all, escape might not be such a difficult
thing. What other secrets of the prison might he not possess?

“’Tis not the first time I have made that trip,” and he laughed as he
brushed the dust from his sleeve. “When the king sent me here to repent
of that affair at Marly he permitted my tutor to accompany me. But in
the evening we were separated, and he was locked up in this cell to
spend the night. We were both dying of ennui, and determined to spend
the nights together. So with infinite patience he picked away the
cement around this slab and the one under it. As you see, they rest on
the girders and so remain in place. The guard cannot see into the cells
after night falls, so we were not disturbed. It is fortunate the corner
is dark,” he added, “and that the cracks of the floor are filled with
dirt, else the ruse might have been discovered since I was last here.”

“And now what?” I asked, trembling with impatience.

“Now to escape,” said the duke, and sat down on the bench to consider.

But to escape, and with only our bare hands for tools! What a problem!
Yet I was determined that it should be solved. Others had escaped from
the Bastille. Why not we?

“Clearly,” I said, after a moment, “we cannot hope to break down the
door nor penetrate these walls.”

My companion nodded in gloomy acquiescence.

“There remains, then, only one possible way,” I went on. “That is by
the window.”

“But the bars?”

“We must remove one. Luckily they are single, so that one will be
enough.”

“It is ninety feet from the ground.”

“We must get a rope.”

“A rope? Yes. But where?”

“I do not know,” I said, but I arose and went to the window. Yes, it
was not less than ninety feet from the ground.

“Well,” said Richelieu, at my elbow, “suppose we had a rope. Suppose
we had the bar out. What then? Do you not see the court is full of
soldiers? We could not hope to escape them. But even if we did, there
is the outer wall still to pass,--forty feet high and with a sentry at
every twenty paces.”

I saw that what he said was true. To descend into the court would be to
enter a nest of hornets. But of a sudden a new thought came to me.

“Well,” I asked, “if one way is impossible, why not try the other?”

“The other?” exclaimed Richelieu. “What other, de Brancas?”

“The roof,” I cried, and I knew I had found the key to the problem. “It
is battlemented, is it not?”

“Yes,” and Richelieu looked more and more astonished. “But I do not yet
understand, my friend.”

“Wait,” I said. “Let me think a moment,” and I sat down upon the bench,
my head between my hands. Richelieu paced feverishly up and down the
cell. At last I had it.

“M. le Duc,” I said, as calmly as I could, for my heart was beating
madly, “I have a plan. It is not promising, perhaps, but I believe it
is the best that offers. I will remove one of the bars of the window.
We will secure a rope. I will stand upon the sill without and throw the
rope over a merlon of the battlement. We will mount to the roof and
after that trust to Providence. There must be some way down, and if
there is, we will find it.”

Richelieu’s eyes were blazing.

“But can we do all this?” he asked.

“We must,” I said. “The most difficult thing is the rope. It must be
twenty or thirty feet long, and strong enough to bear us. If we had our
cloaks----”

“I will get our cloaks,” cried Richelieu. “I will make the rope. Come,
I must return. The guard will soon be here. Slip the stones into place
after me,” and he dropped lightly into his cell.

I dropped the stones back into place, and heard him pounding at his
door. The sentry answered him.

“There is no bedding in this place,” called Richelieu, “and it will be
cold to-night. At least I and my friend should have our cloaks. Ask M.
de Maison-Rouge if he will not send to my hotel and secure us two good,
heavy ones.”

The guard went away, but soon came back again.

“Your request is granted, monsieur,” he said. “You shall have your
cloak,” and then he mounted to my door and repeated the message to me.

I had the slabs out again in a moment.

“That provides the rope,” I said, looking down into the duke’s excited
face. “Now it is for me to remove the bar. It will make some noise. Do
you listen for the sentry and warn me when he approaches.”

Richelieu nodded, and turned away to listen at his door.

I went to the window and examined it bar by bar. None of them showed
any sign of weakness, but at one end of the second bar from the bottom
there was a little crack in the cement. I must have something to use
as a chisel. But what? My eyes fell upon the stove. It was falling to
pieces, and I wrenched loose a portion of the side, which would do
admirably for a maul. But for a chisel I must have something with a
point,--why not one of the clamps which held it to the wall? They had
been driven into the cement, how far I could not guess. I chose the one
which seemed a little loose, and using the piece of iron for a lever,
managed to start it. A second wrench, a third--and I had it out. It was
a sorry chisel, but must do, in want of something better. I muffled my
handkerchief about the piece of iron in order to deaden the noise as
much as possible and attacked the cement about the bar. I saw that I
could chip it away a little at a time.

So I toiled on through the afternoon, Richelieu warning me when the
sentry approached along the corridor. It was weary work, yet my heart
was light, for I had soon made a considerable impression, and knew
I should succeed. My arms were aching and my hands were torn and
blistered, but as evening came one end of the bar was loose, and I felt
that I could pull it out. I stopped work then, told Richelieu of my
success, and carefully gathering up the cement which I had loosened,
threw it under the floor, and slipped the stones back into place. I
drove the clamp back into the wall, replaced the piece of stove, and
threw myself upon my bench to rest.

Scarcely had I done so when I heard footsteps approaching. The door
opened and a man appeared upon the threshold carrying my supper, and
I caught a glimpse of the guard standing in the dark corridor behind
him. He placed the food upon the floor, went out again, and returned
in a moment with a cloak, which he threw upon the chair, and withdrew
without a word, bolting the doors behind him. I caught up the cloak,
and saw with satisfaction that it was a strong and heavy one. But
before I set to work upon it I turned to the food. A square of bread,
a piece of meat, another of cheese, and a bottle of vile wine was all;
but I was in no mood to quarrel with it, for I had eaten nothing since
morning, and soon devoured it to the last morsel. Then I tore the cloak
into broad strips and twisted and knotted them together. At the end of
half an hour I had a strong rope, not less than twenty feet in length.
A tap on the floor told me that Richelieu had also completed his task,
and I sat down to wait for darkness.

It was not long in coming, and so soon as I saw from my window that
night had fallen in earnest, I raised the slabs and pulled Richelieu
up beside me. Then I dropped the stones back into place, so that, when
our escape was discovered, our means of communication might not be too
readily disclosed. Richelieu had brought with him the rope which he had
made, and I knotted both ends of it to mine, making a great loop. Then
I sprang to the window and wrenched out the bar.

“We are ready,” I said, and I felt my arms trembling with excitement.

Richelieu reached out and wrung my hand.

“I will go first,” he said.

“No, no!” I cried, and before he could prevent me I had pushed my body
between the bars and was clinging to the sill without.




CHAPTER VI

A SURPRISE FOR MAISON-ROUGE


There was narrow foothold, and my head whirled for an instant as I
clung to the bars with one hand and looked down at the flickering
torches in the court below and along the outer wall. But the giddiness
passed, and I leaned far out and vainly tried to pierce the darkness
above me. The wall sloped outward at the height of my head, so that I
could not see the top, but I had seen the parapet in daylight from a
distance and knew that the merlons were narrow and spiked along the
crest. It was over one of these that I must throw my rope, and I drew
a deep breath as I nerved myself for the effort. Once, twice, I threw,
with a long, outward sweep of the arm, and each time the rope fell back
past me. Three, four, five times, but each time it came back without
resistance. I paused for breath, and heard Richelieu cursing softly at
the window. I leaned far out and threw the sixth time. The rope held. I
bore my weight upon it, still clinging to the bars with one hand. It
still held. Obviously, what I had hoped for had happened.

And then I paused, while the perspiration started in beads at the roots
of my hair. As the wall sloped outward above me, I saw that so soon
as I grasped the rope and loosed my hold on the bars of the window I
would be swung outward. But there was no time to hesitate, and I feared
that if I stopped to think my heart would fail me, so closing my eyes,
I grasped the rope and let myself go. In a moment I was dangling like
a fly over the abyss. Gripping my teeth, I went up hand over hand to
the parapet, straining my wounded shoulder grievously, grasped the top
of the battlement, pulled myself over, and fell limp as a rag on the
other side. A moment later I heard a scratching against the wall, and
Richelieu scrambled over beside me.

“Do not move,” he whispered, crouching under the parapet; “I hear
footsteps.”

I also heard them, and saw faintly a sentry approaching with musket on
his shoulder.

“’Tis our salvation,” I whispered, for in an instant I saw a way of
escape.

“Our salvation?” questioned Richelieu.

“Make no noise, monsieur,” I answered, “and I will show you.”

The sentry was opposite us. A step more and he had passed. In that
instant I was upon him, my fingers at his throat. Before he could utter
a sound, or, indeed, understand what had happened, I had dragged him
down into the shadow. Richelieu caught his gun as it fell, and seizing
the rope from the parapet, had bound his feet together in a trice.

“Quick, quick!” I whispered. “Perhaps there is another sentry. This one
must not be missed.”

I stripped off the fellow’s coat, while Richelieu stuffed his
handkerchief into his mouth. Then we tied his hands, gagged him, and
rolled him into the shadow. I threw on his coat, donned his hat, picked
up his musket, and continued along his beat. A moment later I saw the
form of another sentry approaching through the gloom.

“Montjoy,” he cried, as he neared me.

The old battle-cry of France flashed into my mind in an instant. I can
call it nothing less than inspiration.

“St. Denis,” I answered.

“All’s well,” said the man, and passed me.

It was a simple thing to reach out and clutch his windpipe. Richelieu
heard the struggle and ran to my assistance. I tore our rope into
shorter pieces, and in a moment the fellow was secured.

“Are there any others?” asked the duke.

“I do not know,” I answered. “Wait and I will make the circuit.” I
picked up the gun again and started on the round. I completed it
without encountering any one. “There are only two sentries,” I said, as
I rejoined Richelieu.

“Good,” he answered; “and now what?”

“My plan is to put on the clothes of these men and take their guns.
When the guard is changed we will descend, and will perhaps be
permitted to go out without question. If any one tries to stop us, we
must kill him. At least, we shall be armed.”

“Splendid!” cried Richelieu. “By my soul, de Brancas, you are a man
after my own heart.”

“Let us see how long we have to wait,” I said, and loosened the gag in
the mouth of our first prisoner. “Tell us, fellow,” I said to him, “how
soon are the guards changed?”

“In an hour,” he answered, sullenly.

I replaced the gag, and as I did so a new difficulty struck me.

“We must get rid of these men,” I said. “If the guards who come after
us find them, they will give the alarm, and the prison will be aroused
in a moment.”

“But we cannot kill them,” cried Richelieu, and I heard the two
prisoners breathing heavily.

“No,” I answered; “but we must get rid of them, nevertheless. Wait
a moment,” and I made a rapid circuit of the roof. “I have it. The
chimneys.”

“The chimneys?”

“Yes; why not? We can lift them over and drop them inside.”

“But they would fall to the bottom.”

“Perhaps not. Let me see,” and I ran to the nearest chimney, drew
myself to the top of it, and carefully let myself down within. My feet
encountered an obstacle, and I cautiously bore my weight upon it. It
seemed quite firm, and I released my hold of the chimney and stooped
down to investigate. I found that I was standing upon a heavy iron
grating solidly embedded in the masonry. In a moment I understood.
It had been placed there to prevent any one crawling up the chimney
and perhaps escaping. There was a certain grim humor in the thought
that this grating, which had been designed to prevent escape, should
be of assistance to us. “Come, this is excellent,” I said, clambering
out, and I explained to Richelieu what I had found. “One man in each
chimney, well bound and gagged. I warrant you they will not be soon
discovered.”

“But they will be smothered!” exclaimed the duke.

“By what?”

“By smoke and heat.”

“Ah, you forget, monsieur,” I said, “how few fires there are in the
Bastille, and how small are the few which do exist.”

“True,” murmured Richelieu; and added, “You seem to think of
everything, my friend.”

It was the work of only a few moments to strip our prisoners and draw
their clothes on over our own. Each had a dagger in his belt, and these
also we appropriated. Our hats we dropped down the chimney nearest us.

“Come, my friends,” I said to the two men, who were shivering in the
icy wind which swept across the building, “you are soon to be in a
warmer place. No, do not fear, we are not going to harm you,--that
is, if you keep still. We are going to slip each of you down one of
those chimneys, where, about six feet from the top, there is a grating
upon which you can stand very comfortably. I promise you, moreover,
that if you are quiet and do not struggle we will send a message to
the governor in the morning telling him where you are, so that he can
release you.”

I saw that the gags were fast and that their hands and feet were
securely bound. Then I mounted the chimney and, with the assistance
of Richelieu, pulled one of the prisoners to the top and lowered him
inside. I felt him shudder as he swung over the inky pit, but his feet
soon found the grating, and in a moment he was standing in safety and
quite invisible from the roof. The same manœuvre was repeated at the
other chimney, I having first assured myself that it was also grated,
and Richelieu and I were left alone upon the parapet. All of this had
taken time, and we knew the moment of the relief could not be far
distant. We picked up the muskets and started to patrol the roof.

“The pass-word,” I said to Richelieu, “is Montjoy and St. Denis.”

“And how under heaven do you know that, my friend?” he asked, in
amazement.

“By inspiration,” I answered, and left him to his astonishment. We had
made the round scarce half a dozen times when we heard a door unbolted.

“Montjoy,” cried a voice.

“St. Denis,” we answered, from different parts of the roof.

“All right, _mes enfants_,” cried the voice; “step lively, if you
please.”

A faint light appeared, and we hastened towards it.

“You are to report at once to the governor,” said the man, who by his
uniform I saw to be an officer. “Two of the guards are ill to-night and
you will have to do double duty.”

“Very good, monsieur,” I answered, and saluting, we hurried down the
steps, exchanging the pass-word with the two guards who were mounting
to relieve us. Luckily we knew the location of the governor’s office.
The darkness favored us, and at the magic words Montjoy and St. Denis
the drawbridge was lowered and the gates were opened into the outer
court.

“This way,” said Richelieu, “and pray heaven he be alone.”

We hastened towards a lighted window, which we could see distinctly
through the darkness. Richelieu peered into the room.

“It is he,” he whispered. “He is sitting at a table writing, with his
back to the door. I think he is alone. We must surprise him. Are you
ready?” and he drew his dagger from his belt.

“Yes,” I said, “I am quite ready,” and I also drew my dagger.

He opened the door noiselessly, and we entered quickly. I shot the
bolts into place, and with one spring Richelieu was at the side of
Maison-Rouge, his poniard against his throat.

“One sound, one movement,” he said, between his teeth, “and you are a
dead man, monsieur.”

Maison-Rouge looked around with a start, felt the dagger against his
neck, and like a discreet man remained silent, his face impassive as
ever.

“Now, de Brancas, quick. A gag and some rope.” I found both without
difficulty. “We forget the window,” cried Richelieu, suddenly. “Close
it, man.” I closed the iron shutter so that not a ray of light could be
seen from without, and Maison-Rouge was soon secured.

“Now,” said Richelieu, “let us go.”

“On the contrary, let us stay,” I answered.

“How, stay? Are you mad?”

“Not at all. Alone, we shall never be able to pass the outer gate. Only
M. de Maison-Rouge can get us out. The question is, will he do it?”

“Hardly,” said Richelieu.

“I believe that he will,” I said, “when he has fully considered the
situation. One question, M. le Duc. Do you wish to leave Paris?”

“Certainly not.”

“And yet, if you escape, you will have to leave Paris, will you not,
and perhaps France?”

“I fear so,” said Richelieu, gloomily.

“Ah, now I am sure that you will favor my plan. Now, M. de
Maison-Rouge, attention. Let me tell you first that we have a very
important engagement for this evening, which we are determined to keep.
If we escape, leaving you behind here, your prestige is lost. Conceive
the anger of the regent when he finds that you have permitted to slip
through your fingers the two prisoners whom he had especially charged
you to watch closely.”

A groan escaped the unfortunate man. His impassiveness yielded to this
blow, as I had thought it would.

“On the other hand, what I propose to you is this. You order your
coach, we enter with you, you drive out through the gates, announcing
that you go on a mission of importance. Three hours later you drive in
again, we with you.” I saw both men start. “You will send us back to
our second watch on the roof. We release the two sentries, who will not
have been discovered, return them their uniforms, secure their silence,
regain our rooms, and remove all traces of our flight. Everything
will be as it was before, and when in the morning the regent sends to
inquire after his prisoners, you can inform him that they are safe.
Does the plan strike you favorably, monsieur?”

I had been watching him closely as I talked and I was satisfied that he
would consent. I loosened the gag.

“Do you consent, monsieur?” I repeated.

“What assurance have I that you will return with me?” he asked.

“My word of honor.”

“And yours also, M. le Duc?”

“Certainly, mine also,” answered Richelieu.

“Messieurs,” said Maison-Rouge, “I understand nothing of all this, but
I am in your power. I will do anything to keep my prisoners. I consent.”

“And what assurance have we?” I asked.

“My word of honor also.”

“That will do,” said Richelieu. “Besides, we have always our poniards.”

“Let us make haste, then,” I cried, and I untied Maison-Rouge, first
assuring myself that he was unarmed.

“Unbolt the door,” he said. Richelieu did so. The governor rang a bell.
A man entered, and I saw Richelieu grip his dagger convulsively. At
least, Maison-Rouge would not escape if he showed a sign of treachery.

“My coach, at once,” said the governor. “Inform Lieutenant Perrault
that he is to take my place here until I return from a mission of
importance.”

The man saluted and withdrew. I drew a breath of relief, and I felt
that my forehead was damp with perspiration for the second time that
night. Maison-Rouge donned his cloak and hat. Five tense minutes
passed. Then the door opened and the man reappeared.

“The coach is waiting, monsieur,” he said.

“Very well,” replied the governor. “And Perrault?”

“Will be here in a moment, monsieur.”

“We will not wait for him. Follow me, my men,” and he led the way to
a coach whose lanterns gleamed through the darkness. He entered first
and we followed him. We were stopped at the drawbridge, and the sentry
thrust in his head to be certain that it was really the governor of the
Bastille who passed.

“All’s well,” he cried. The drawbridge creaked down and we rumbled
over. There was a moment’s delay at the outer gate, then it was opened
and we were free.

“Where to, monsieur?” asked the coachman, drawing up outside the gate.

I whispered in the governor’s ear.

“To the Hotel de Richelieu,” he answered.

Not a word was spoken as we dashed through the almost deserted streets,
and we were soon in the Rue des Saints Pères. The coachman stopped
before the central gate of the hotel.

“Wait a moment here,” said Richelieu, and he sprang from the coach, ran
to the gate, and rang the bell. A lacquey answered the summons, and
after a whispered word with him Richelieu motioned us forward. As we
passed he stepped again into the coach, and the gate was closed behind
us. In a moment we were at the great entrance of the house.

“Come with us, monsieur,” I said to Maison-Rouge, and motioned him to
get out first.

“The governor wishes you on no account to leave this place,” I said to
the driver as we descended. “M. de Maison-Rouge intends to look through
the papers of M. de Richelieu. It may take some time, but you are to
await him here.”

The coachman, well drilled, doubtless, in his master’s peculiar
business, nodded to show that he understood.

We mounted the steps, and Richelieu knocked at the door. It was opened
by Jacques, who recognized his master at once and admitted us without a
word.

“Jacques,” said Richelieu, as the door closed, “you will conduct this
gentleman to the red salon. Call two of my men and let them assist you
in guarding him. On no account is he to escape or communicate with any
one. You will, however, provide him with wine and whatever else he may
require.”

The man bowed and led our prisoner down a corridor to the left.
Richelieu sprang up the stairs, and I followed him to the apartment we
had entered the evening before. Here he paused.

“De Brancas,” he said, turning to me and grasping my hand, “you are
sublime, my friend. Believe me, I shall never forget it.”




CHAPTER VII

AT THE DRYAD FOUNTAIN


“We shall need disguises,” said Richelieu, as I returned his clasp with
equal warmth. “Luckily, I have already had many occasions for using
them, and so have a large assortment. Come with me,” and he led the way
into an adjoining room, whose walls were covered with costumes. There
were uniforms of many kinds, cavaliers’ suits of a dozen fashions and
even the more sober garb of artisans and masons. At one end of the
room was a collection of arms,--swords, poniards, pistols, arquebuses,
and even shirts of mail. “Choose,” said Richelieu, with a sweep of his
hand. “As for me, I shall take this suit of gray. I am known to abhor
gray, and moreover it will make me invisible in the darkness.”

The reason seemed to me a good one, and I selected a suit of similar
shade but much less elaborate design.

“Oh, I had near forgot!” I exclaimed, returning, as I was leaving the
room. “Will you instruct one of your people to prepare against our
return a small box of cement?”

“Cement?” asked Richelieu, looking at me in astonishment.

“Yes; we shall need it,” I answered.

“Very well, my friend,” he said, and without waiting to explain the use
I had for it, I hurried to my apartment, where I changed my clothes,
rolling my others into a bundle, which I carried down with me to
Richelieu’s room five minutes later. I found him busily engaged in
curling his moustache and arranging his hair.

“We have no time to lose, monsieur,” I protested.

“What the devil would you have, de Brancas?” and Richelieu threw around
his neck a collar which I knew to be that of the Holy Ghost, with its
eight-pointed cross, each point crowned by a ball. “A gentleman cannot
go to a rendezvous looking like a bourgeois. I have ordered two horses,
and I shall be ready to mount by the time they are at the door. You
would better select a sword, a poniard, and a pistol, for you may have
need of them before the night is over.”

I did as he suggested, and in a few minutes we were in the saddle. We
crossed the river at a gallop, and without drawing rein plunged into a
maze of narrow streets where I should have been utterly lost, but where
Richelieu seemed quite at home. I expected every moment that my horse
would break his leg in some hole in the pavement, but my companion
did not slacken speed, and I pressed on behind him. I remembered that
the rendezvous was in the Palais Royal gardens, and reflected without
enthusiasm that this was walking into the lion’s jaws with a vengeance,
but I kept my thoughts to myself, and in a moment we turned sharply to
the left along a narrow street and came out at the end of a long avenue
of chestnuts.

“This is the place,” said Richelieu, and we walked our horses into
the shadow of the trees and dismounted. “We will tie our horses here.
The fountain is not far distant, and we shall have no difficulty in
regaining them should we be surprised. Ah! ’tis the hour,” he added, as
ten o’clock sounded from St. Honoré. “In two hours we must be back in
the Bastille. ’Tis well that the night is cold,” he continued, leading
the way rapidly along the avenue, “else our task would have been more
difficult, for this is a great place of resort in fine weather.”

Some distance away, through the leafless branches of the trees, I could
see the lights of the Palais Royal gleaming. The moon had risen and
shed a cold radiance over the gardens, beautiful even under December’s
withering hand. Only under the broad branches of the chestnuts was
there obscurity, and we kept carefully in the shadow.

“There is the fountain,” said Richelieu at the end of a moment, “but I
see no one. Can it be that she has disappointed me? Perhaps she heard I
had been imprisoned and thought I could not come. Ah, there is some one
standing in the shadow. It must be she!” and he ran quickly forward.

I thought it much more likely to be a squad of the regent’s guards, but
kept close at his elbow, determined to have a hand in whatever might
befall. A moment later I saw two muffled figures standing near the
fountain, and to these Richelieu ran.

“Ah, Charlotte!” he cried, falling on his knee before one of them, the
instinct of his heart telling him which was the princess. “I protest
to you that only the most cruel chance made us a moment late. I shall
never cease to reproach myself for having kept you waiting.”

“And is it indeed you, M. le Duc?” asked a low voice, and I saw that
Richelieu had gained possession of a hand and was covering it with
kisses. “But I heard this evening that my father had sent you to the
Bastille.”

“So he did,” said Richelieu, “but did you believe any prison in France
strong enough to keep me from your side, Charlotte?”

“You escaped, then? But how?”

“For that we have to thank my friend here,” and Richelieu drew me
forward. “Mademoiselle, allow me to present M. Jean de Brancas, a
gentleman whom I have learned to trust as I would myself.”

“And who hopes some day to be of service to Mlle. de Valois,” I added,
bowing over the hand which she graciously gave me.

“You have already been of service to me, monsieur,” she said, kindly,
“in assisting M. de Richelieu to escape from prison. But I also have a
companion. Come here, Louise. Gentlemen, this is my very dear friend
Mlle. Louise Dacour, my trust in whom, I think, is fully attested by
her being here to-night.”

We both bowed to her, and I caught a glimpse of laughing eyes and an
adorable mouth, which made my heart leap.

“Let us go,” said Richelieu, offering his arm to the princess.

“But where?” she asked.

“I care not so we be together,” and as they moved away down the avenue
I followed with Mlle. Dacour. The light touch of her hand on my arm
filled me with an emotion which I tried in vain to analyze.

“Oh, come, M. de Brancas,” she said after a moment, in what seemed to
me the sweetest voice in the world. “It is plainly to be seen that you
have never been in love.”

“Never until this moment, mademoiselle, I swear to you,” I answered.
“But how did you guess it?”

“No, no, you are not in love even now, I assure you, monsieur,” she
laughed, “else you would not follow mademoiselle and the duke so
closely.”

“It is true,” I said; “I was thoughtless,” and we walked more slowly
until the two in front of us could be scarcely discerned.

“Now tell me,” said my companion, with a little gesture of command,
“how did you leave the Bastille, monsieur?”

“We opened seven doors, lowered three drawbridges, and came out very
easily, mademoiselle,” I answered.

“You shall not evade me,” she cried. “Tell me about it. I have already
heard something of your exploits since you came to Paris, M. de
Brancas,” she added, “and am anxious to hear more.”

I trembled with joy at the thought that I had, perhaps, already
awakened some interest in the heart of this beautiful creature, and
rapidly outlined our method of escape.

“It was magnificent!” she cried, as I finished. “Those are the kind of
deeds I love to hear about,” and her sparkling eyes looked into mine. I
felt that I was losing my self-control, and my heart was beating wildly.

“I did not guess the happiness that awaited me here,” I said, “nor have
I ever dreamed of loveliness such as yours, mademoiselle.”

“It is evident that you have seen little of Paris, monsieur,” she
retorted, glancing at me and smiling archly.

“I wish to see no more,” I cried. “Ah, mademoiselle, believe me, I may
be but a simple and uncultured boor, but I mean to win for myself a
place in your heart if it be possible.”

She glanced at me again, I dared think not unkindly, and I felt her
hand fluttering on my arm.

“I deem you neither simple nor uncultured, M. de Brancas,” she said,
after a moment. “Indeed, the stories I have heard of you have given
me quite the contrary opinion. But pray where have you seen my face,
that you have been able to form such an exalted opinion of it?” and she
smiled at me, her eyes dancing with mischief.

“I caught but a glimpse of it by the fountain there, but a glimpse was
quite enough,” I answered, stoutly. “Besides, I make bold to hope that
by accident your cloak may yet slip down and reveal more of it.”

I was trembling at my own temerity.

“Ah, I like your spirit, monsieur,” she answered, gayly. “Have it as
you will, then,” and at the word her cloak fell about her shoulders.
Her dazzling eyes met mine, her mouth was curving in the most
provoking of smiles. Some wizardry drew me towards her.

“No, no!” she said, divining my thought and holding up a little hand to
keep me at a distance. “This is favor enough for one evening,” but I
caught her hand and kissed it before she could draw it away. “Come, we
have forgot completely our companions. We must join them.”

I had, indeed, forgotten Richelieu, and I remembered with a start that
our time of freedom must be getting short. I peered anxiously through
the darkness, but could see no sign of him.

“Perhaps they are at the fountain,” said Mlle. Dacour, and we hastened
thither, but to no purpose. I was about to call aloud, when I heard a
sudden shout and clash of arms from the direction of the Palais Royal.

“They have found him!” I cried. “He never thinks of prudence. Come,
mademoiselle, let me see you to a place of safety. I must join him.”

“Oh, do not delay!” she implored. “I am perfectly safe, monsieur. Our
apartments are but a step from here.”

“Impossible! I cannot leave you alone. Come,” I repeated.

She wrung her hands together as she looked at me.

“M. de Brancas, you said to me just now that you would have me think
kindly of you.”

“With all my heart.”

“Would you have me believe it?”

“I would do anything to prove it,” I cried.

“Then go.” I looked into her eyes, which were flaming with excitement,
caught her hand and kissed it. It nestled in mine for a moment.

“Adieu, mademoiselle,” I said, and was off under the trees. The sounds
grew louder as I approached, and it was evident that the whole palace
had been aroused. Windows were thrown open, soldiers were pouring out
of a room in the left wing, and near the edge of the garden five or
six men had a single man surrounded. At a glance I saw the latter to
be Richelieu. He had placed his back against a tree and was fencing
coolly. Even as I ran I saw one of his assailants totter and fall.
I kept on without a sound, reached the group, and ran a man through
before they perceived they were attacked in the rear. They gave back a
pace.

“Come, monsieur,” I cried, “there will be others here in a moment.”

“Ah, gentlemen,” said Richelieu, saluting with his sword in careless
disregard of the thrusts aimed at him, “believe me, were there only
yourselves we should not think of leaving until our argument had
reached a conclusion, but as it is, I regret that we must go.” And then
he added to me, in a lower tone, “Retreat towards the horses. If we can
reach them we are safe.”

I heard hurrying feet from the direction of the palace and did not
doubt that we should be overwhelmed unless we reached the horses
quickly. Richelieu had disabled another of our opponents, so that there
were only three, and these drew off and followed us more warily. I saw
others hastening towards us under the trees, but we had not far to go,
and soon reached the horses.

“Charge them!” I cried, for they were just out of sword reach.

Our nearest pursuers retreated before us, and in the instant of time
that followed we threw ourselves into the saddle. As we dashed out into
the open an overhanging branch caught my companion’s hat and tore it
from his head, leaving his face fully exposed in the bright moonlight.

“’Tis Richelieu!” cried one of the men. With an oath, the duke
snatched a pistol from the holster and fired. The man threw his arms
above his head and fell like a log. In a flash we were out of the
avenue and in the city.

There was need of haste, for once the regent should learn that
Richelieu had been in the garden, he would lose no time in getting to
the Bastille to find out the truth. So we put spurs to our horses and
dashed on like the wind, raising a veritable cannonade of echoes. In
ten minutes we were at the Hotel de Richelieu, and throwing our bridles
to a lacquey, rushed up the stairs, tore off our masquerades, and drew
on our old suits, and over them the suits of the two sentries.

“One moment,” I said, as Richelieu started out of the room; “we shall
need money, monsieur. Have you any?”

“You are right,” cried the duke, and he ran to a secretary, opened it,
and filled his pockets with pistoles. “Now we are ready. Come.”

“The cement?” I asked. “Where is it?”

“Here,” and Richelieu handed me a small package from the table. I
placed it carefully in a pocket of my own suit.

“All right,” I cried, and we descended the stairs in three bounds.
Richelieu led the way along the corridor down which Jacques had taken
his prisoner two hours before. He paused before a door and tried to
open it. It was locked on the inside.

“Who is there?” cried a voice.

“It is I, Richelieu; open quickly.” The bolt was thrown and the door
opened. Inside were Jacques and two other men, while Maison-Rouge was
pacing nervously up and down.

“Ah, messieurs,” he cried, “I thought you were never coming! It is near
midnight.”

“We have still ten minutes,” said Richelieu, coolly, “but there is no
time to lose. Come,” and he led the way towards the door. We picked up
the muskets as we passed through the hall, and as the door opened we
fell a pace behind Maison-Rouge, and resuming our character of simple
sentries, followed him to the carriage.

“To the Bastille!” cried the governor, and in a moment we were
thundering along the street.

“M. de Maison-Rouge,” said Richelieu, in a low voice, “do not be
astonished if you receive an early visit from the regent.”

“From the regent? And why so?”

“My friend and I had the misfortune to encounter some of the regent’s
guards this evening,” said the duke, calmly, “and I fear that I was
recognized.”

“The devil!” exclaimed Maison-Rouge. “Then all is lost.”

“Not at all,” I said, quickly. “At twelve o’clock we will be sent to
the roof to go on guard. We will regain our rooms and remove all traces
of our flight. You, monsieur, will go directly to bed, and should you
be aroused, must consume as much time as possible in putting on your
clothes. Even if the regent is right at our heels, that will give us at
least ten minutes, and ten minutes is more than we shall need. I think
when you show him that you have us safe, he will have little more to
say.”

“I trust so, at least,” murmured Maison-Rouge, “though I confess I
do not understand how you will accomplish all this. Until to-night I
had thought the Bastille impregnable, but you seem to have found some
miraculous way of leaving your cells and entering them again.”

I smiled as I encountered his dazed glance, but I judged it best to say
nothing more. A moment later we reached the prison, the gates of which
opened to the governor’s coach on the instant. There was a short delay
at the first drawbridge, where the sentry again peered into the coach
to see that all was right. Then we were in the court, the carriage
stopped and we sprang out, just as midnight pealed from the tower.

“Lieutenant Perrault,” said the governor to a man who hastened towards
us and saluted, “let Bastien and Drouet here take the next watch on the
parapet. To-morrow let them have a holiday to repay for this double
duty.”

“Very good, monsieur,” answered the lieutenant.

“You have nothing to report?” asked the governor, sharply.

“Nothing, monsieur. Everything has gone as usual.” I breathed a sigh of
relief. The prisoners in the chimneys had not, then, been discovered.

“That is all, lieutenant,” said the governor. “I am going to bed
immediately. Awake me if there is need.”

We saluted and followed Perrault. I blessed the impenetrable darkness
of the narrow court which rendered it impossible to recognize friend
or foe, and we walked in silence across the drawbridge and up the
winding staircase.

“Montjoy,” cried Perrault, opening the door which led to the roof.

“St. Denis,” two voices answered.

“Hurry up,” cried Perrault. “It’s devilishly cold up here.”

The two sentries appeared and descended the stairs. We emerged upon the
roof.

“You have my sympathy, comrades,” said Perrault, and closed the door.

There was not a moment to lose. I ran to the nearest chimney, clambered
to the top and felt inside. I found the prisoner’s head in an instant.
Catching him by the shoulders, I dragged him to the top and lowered
him to Richelieu, who awaited him below. The other prisoner was soon
standing beside him.

“Messieurs,” I said to them, “we have returned, as you see, and I wish
you to listen to me very carefully. There remains only one thing for us
to do. That is to silence you.” I saw them shudder. “It is necessary
only to decide how you are to be silenced. In short, you must either
engage to keep silence or we shall be obliged to silence you once and
for all. Which do you prefer, a hundred pistoles each or a blow of the
poniard and a drop over the parapet?” I loosened their gags as I spoke.

“Monsieur,” said one of them, “a fool could choose. I will take the
pistoles, will not you, Bastien?”

“I, also,” answered his comrade, readily, “provided no one else knows
of your escape, messieurs?”

“No one knows of it. Every one thought we were you. At the end of the
watch you will be relieved; you will go down. To-morrow you will have a
holiday in which to spend your pistoles. If any one interrogates you,
swear that no one passed this way. You will be quite safe.”

“But you, messieurs?” asked Bastien.

“We return to our cells, and everything is as it was before. Do you
agree?”

“We agree,” they cried with one voice, though by the way they looked at
us it was plain they thought us fools to have returned.

“Very good. Now we will unbind you, and you will go to the other side
of the parapet. We will take off your uniforms and leave them here with
your muskets. After we have descended, you will come and loosen the
rope which you will find secured here. Let it fall, as we wish to keep
it. You understand?”

“Yes, yes,” they cried. Richelieu counted out two hundred pistoles and
placed them by the muskets.

“Here is the money,” he said.

I untied the ropes and the two men retreated to the other side of the
roof. In a moment I had knotted the pieces of rope together, made one
end secure and dropped the other over.

“I will go first,” I said. “The knots may slip,” and before the duke
could protest I was over the battlement. I let myself down hand over
hand until I was opposite my window, but I found the bars beyond my
reach. By a supreme effort I touched the wall with my foot and pushed
myself outward, and as I swung in I grasped one of the bars and pulled
myself to the window-ledge. I tied the end of the rope to the bars, so
that the duke could reach them without difficulty, and then slipped
into the cell. He followed a moment later, and the rope was loosened
from above and fell. I drew it in.

“You must get back to your cell at once,” I said, and raised the slab
in the floor, slid the one below it back and crawled aside for him to
pass.

“But the window?” he asked. “If they find a bar out they will know
everything.”

“Leave that to me,” I answered; “I will replace it.”

The duke wrung my hand and dropped through the opening into the cell
below. I replaced the slabs, concealing the rope, for which we might
have further need. Then I ran to the window and forced the bar back
into place. I opened the box of cement, moistened it with water from
my can, and rapidly filled up the places where the old cement had been
broken away, rubbing my fingers over it until convinced that it was
quite smooth. It was drying rapidly and would soon set. I raised the
slab again and placed the box with the remainder of the cement beneath
it. I rubbed my hands on the floor and then over the new cement, until
I could see by the moonlight which filtered through the bars that it
was dirty as the adamant which surrounded it. Satisfied that it could
not be detected without close examination, I threw myself exhausted
upon the bench.

Scarcely had I done so when I heard a noise in the cell below. In an
instant I was at the loosened slab.

“What is it now?” I heard Richelieu ask, in a sleepy voice, of some one
who had evidently entered his cell. “Upon my word,” he continued, “’tis
the regent! To what do I owe the honor of this visit, monsieur?”

“You see ’tis as I told Your Highness,” cried the voice of
Maison-Rouge. “The prisoners are safe, and assuredly will not leave
their cells until I get an order permitting them to do so.”

“You are playing with me, gentlemen!” thundered the regent, in a
terrible voice. “Richelieu was recognized not half an hour since in the
gardens of the Palais Royal.”

“Some mistake, I do not doubt,” said Richelieu, carelessly.

“A mistake, _pardieu_! Perhaps it was also a mistake that I met my
daughter returning to her apartment? Do you deny that it was with you
she had a rendezvous?”

“Oh, M. le Regent, I deny nothing,” cried Richelieu, airily. “Why
should I? It is so manifestly absurd. You say I was at the Palais Royal
a few minutes since. You rush here with all speed. You find me asleep
in my cell. All the doors are bolted, all the drawbridges raised,
every sentry at his post. I ask you, monsieur, if the Bastille is so
easily left and entered? Besides, monsieur could easily interrogate the
sentries.”

The regent caught at the suggestion.

“Maison-Rouge,” he said, “call that sentry in the corridor.”

The man was called.

“Has any one passed since you have been on duty?” asked the regent.

“No one but yourselves, monsieur.”

“You are certain?”

“Perfectly certain, monsieur?”

“How long have you been on duty?”

“Over three hours, monsieur.”

Here was a facer for the regent.

“Come,” I heard him exclaim, suddenly, “perhaps the other has not
returned. I do not doubt that it was he who was with Richelieu.”

I was back on my bench in an instant. The door opened, and I lifted
my head as from a heavy sleep. I saw Maison-Rouge on the threshold
carrying a lantern, and back of him the regent. I was on my feet with a
bound.

“It appears to me that your prisoners sleep with suspicious soundness,
Maison-Rouge,” said the regent, pushing past him into the room. He
glanced about it keenly, went to the window and shook the bars, but
found nothing suspicious.

“How does it happen,” he asked, “that the window here has only single
bars, while those of the floors below have double ones?”

“Good God! what would you have, monsieur?” cried Maison-Rouge. “Suppose
there were no bars at all, still to escape the prisoner has a drop of
ninety feet into a court-yard full of sentries, with a wall forty feet
high to pass before he is free. A man would need wings to escape from
here, monsieur.”

“I am beginning to think so myself,” muttered the regent. And then,
turning sharply, “So you have been here all evening, Monsieur--I forget
your name?”

“Jean de Brancas,” I said, bowing.

“So you have been here all evening, have you, M. de Brancas?”

“It seems to me a useless question,” I answered. “Monsieur forgets that
I have been in the Bastille only since yesterday afternoon.”

“What then?”

“To consider monsieur’s question seriously would mean that he deemed it
possible for a man, in the short space of six or eight hours, not only
to force his way out of this formidable prison, but to force his way in
again, and to leave no trace of his passage in either direction.”

“You are right,” and the regent bit his lips. “Come, Maison-Rouge,” he
added, “let us go. Your prisoners are doubtless anxious to resume their
slumber,” and he smiled into my eyes and turned away.

They left the cell, and I heard their footsteps die away down the
corridor. A moment later Richelieu signalled me.

“They discovered nothing?” he asked, as I answered the signal.

“Absolutely nothing.”

“But how did you replace the bar in the window?”

“That was what the cement was for.”

“De Brancas, you are a genius!” exclaimed Richelieu. “But we both need
sleep. Good-night, my friend.”

“Good-night,” I answered, and lay down again upon the bench. My eyes
closed in sheer exhaustion despite the cold, and I dreamed that I was
again walking in the Palais Royal gardens with Louise Dacour at my side
and her warm little hand in mine.




CHAPTER VIII

AN AUDIENCE WITH THE REGENT


The sun was shining brightly through the bars of my window when I
opened my eyes. So soundly had I slept that I had not heard the entry
of the guard, who had placed my breakfast on the chair beside me. It
consisted of a pound of bread, which I learned afterwards was the daily
allowance for each prisoner in the Bastille, and a plate of haricot,
in which bones and turnips were most conspicuous, and which I judged
to consist of the remains of the dinner of the previous day. A can of
water completed the repast, and I ate without grumbling. Not knowing
that the bread was to last me the entire day, I ate it all. Then I sat
down to think over the adventures of the night before, but I saw only
the sweet face of Louise Dacour, and my heart trembled as I thought of
the abyss I needs must span ere I could stand beside her, an equal in
rank and fortune. Yet a stout heart might accomplish even that.

A tapping on the floor brought me back to earth, and I heard
Richelieu’s voice calling me.

“De Brancas,” he cried, “de Brancas, tell me that it was not all a
dream.”

“A dream,” I answered; “then I, too, have dreamed, monsieur.”

“And we really did escape? We were at the dryad fountain?”

“If you could see my hands, monsieur, you would not doubt it,” and I
looked at them myself with tender solicitude, for they were abraded and
blistered in many places.

“Ah, yes,” cried Richelieu, “it was you who devised that plan,--who did
the work. It was a masterpiece, Jean. I shall always remember it.”

And he fell silent for a moment.

“You saw her, did you not, Jean?” he asked, suddenly.

“Yes, I saw her.”

“Her eyes?”

“Yes.”

“And are they not the most beautiful in the kingdom?”

“I am glad you think so, monsieur,” I said. “As for me, I have found
two others which content me admirably.”

“Two others?” he questioned, in an astonished voice. “But to whom do
they belong?”

“To Mlle. Dacour,” I answered simply.

“Oh, my poor friend!” exclaimed Richelieu, and I heard him laughing.
“Is your heart also in the toils? In faith, you have my sympathy. But
come, the affair is not altogether hopeless. What do you know of Mlle.
Dacour?”

“Nothing, absolutely nothing, but that she is beautiful and smiles
divinely,” I cried. “Ah, tell me all you know!” and I hung upon every
word.

“She was the daughter of Chevalier Louis-Armand Dacour, who died a
year ago, leaving her an honored name, but little wherewith to support
it. Mlle. de Valois found her, it seems, admired her, and they are now
inseparable. I have heard something more concerning her which favors
your cause,” added the duke, and he laughed again.

“Which favors my cause?” I asked, incredulously.

“She loves brave men,” said Richelieu. “She abhors the wits and roués
who have congregated about the regent, and they tell many stories
of the ways in which she makes them feel her scorn. She sighs for
the days of the Great Cardinal, when good blows were stoutly given
and cheerfully taken. Another exploit such as that of last night, de
Brancas, and, believe me, her heart is yours.”

“No, no, you are jesting,” I murmured. Yet she had listened with
sparkling eyes to the story of our escape. Well, if a sword could win a
way to her heart, mine should not be idle.

“But come,” cried the duke, “we have talked enough of your affairs. Let
us talk of mine. Can you guess what she has promised me?”

“What is it, monsieur?” I asked, with a sinking heart, for I had little
doubt as to the answer.

“A rendezvous for to-morrow night. Not in the cold avenues of the
garden this time, but in her apartment in the Palais Royal.”

“And you intend to keep this rendezvous?” I asked.

“Assuredly; why not? Did we not keep that of yesterday?”

“Yes,” I admitted, “but miracles do not happen twice in the same way.
However, we shall see.”

“’Tis true about the King of Sardinia,” continued Richelieu, in a more
gloomy tone. “He has sent proposals for her hand, and the regent swears
she shall consent. But she says she would rather die, and I trust we
may yet find a way out of it. Ah, there is some one coming!”

A moment later I heard the door of his cell opened and the voice of
Maison-Rouge.

“The regent has just sent me an order for your release, M. le Duc,” he
said.

“My release?”

“Yes. Unfortunately, there is a squadron of horse awaiting in the
court-yard to convey you to your regiment at Bayonne at once. Come,
monsieur.”

“To Bayonne? I am exiled from Paris, then?”

“So it seems.”

“But my friend?”

“There are no orders for him. He must remain here.”

“M. de Maison-Rouge,” demanded Richelieu, “did my friend and I keep the
agreement we made with you last night?”

“To the letter. Better than I had hoped.”

“You may then have some feeling of friendship for us?”

“What is it, monsieur?”

“M. de Maison-Rouge, I ask you to go out of that door, close it after
you, and withdraw ten paces. At the end of five minutes return and I
shall be ready to accompany you. Do this for me, monsieur, and I shall
not forget it.”

“You will not escape?” asked Maison-Rouge. “It is not a trick?”

“I swear to you, monsieur, that I shall be here when you open the door.”

“Very well; I believe I can trust you, M. le Duc,” and I heard him
withdraw and clang the door shut after him.

“Jean, Jean,” called Richelieu, “you heard?”

“Yes, everything,” I answered.

“The regent doubtless thinks I shall be safer at Bayonne, three hundred
leagues away, than in the Bastille. Well, so be it, but nevertheless
I shall keep tryst with Charlotte to-morrow night. Listen. Be at the
dryad fountain at ten o’clock. I will meet you there. I do not doubt
Louise Dacour will be there also.”

I trembled at the thought.

“If human power can do it I will be there,” I said.

“And listen, Jean,” continued Richelieu; “you are to make my house your
home if you get out of here. You understand? Jacques will know you.
Silence. The governor is returning.”

A moment later his door was opened again.

“Are you ready, monsieur?” asked Maison-Rouge.

“Quite ready,” answered Richelieu, “and a thousand thanks for your
courtesy.”

They were gone and I was left alone with reflections that were not
too pleasant. What did the regent intend doing with me? To a man of
Richelieu’s position some consideration must be shown, but I might be
thrown into an oubliette to rot and no one would ask twice about me.
Verily, I thought, if I get out of this place again I shall do my best
to stay out.

Noon came, and with it my dinner of soup, a piece of the meat of which
it had been made, an apple, and a bottle of wine. I had no bread, for
I had eaten all of mine for that day, and the sentry gruffly refused
to give me more. I ate the dinner to the last morsel--for it has ever
been my belief that the more desperate a man’s condition the greater
his need of food--and spent the afternoon looking out through the bars
across the fields and watching the busy highway which led towards the
city. I thought of Louise, and then with a trembling dread of what
it would mean to remain in this accursed hole for a year or even for
a month. I vainly cudgelled my brain for a plan of escape, but could
discover none which offered even a possibility of success. The weather
had turned warm again, for which I was thankful, for the calotte was
exposed to every wind, and must be frightfully cold in severe weather.
The allowance of wood was limited to six pieces a day, and the wretched
stove was wholly incapable of heating the place even with plenty of
fuel.

The afternoon passed and evening came. I ate the scant supper, crept
into the snuggest corner, drew my bench against me for greater warmth,
and soon fell asleep. The sun again awoke me, and the second morning
went much as the first had done, only more wearisomely. I passed the
hours in a kind of frenzy. One thought ran ceaselessly through my
brain,--to escape--to escape--but how? I could find no answer. About
the middle of the afternoon I was startled by the sound of the bolts
of my door being thrown, and turned from my window as a sentry entered.

“You are to follow me,” he said.

“Gladly,” I replied. “Nothing can be worse than this place,” and I
descended the staircase after him. We emerged into the well court, then
into the outer court, and crossed the bridge into the court beyond,
my guard saying never a word, but directing his steps towards the
governor’s office. A coach surrounded by a squad of mounted guards
stood before it. Maison-Rouge himself met us at the door.

“M. de Brancas,” he said, “the regent has sent for you. Enter the
coach, and these gentlemen will conduct you to him.”

“The devil!” I thought. “The regent! What can he want?” But without
permitting any of my discomposure to appear in my face, I entered
the coach. We were soon outside the walls, and I looked about for an
opportunity to escape, but saw none. The guards were too many; besides,
they were on horseback, while I should be on foot. Right across the
city we drove, and I looked out upon the people passing to and fro and
reflected bitterly that they were free and could go where they listed.
But I had little time for meditation, for we were soon at the Palais
Royal, and two of the guards dismounting, asked me to descend from the
carriage. They placed themselves on either side of me, and we mounted
the staircase. Some ten minutes we waited in a small antechamber
to which no one else was admitted, and then we were shown into the
presence of the regent.

“Good-day, M. de Brancas,” he said, coolly; and added to the guards,
“You may go. I fancy I shall not need you again.” Then he turned to
me. “Now, M. de Brancas, I intend to have a candid talk with you. But
first, tell me, why are you my enemy?”

“But I am not your enemy, monsieur,” I protested.

“Then why do you associate with my enemies?” he asked.

“Because they are my friends, monsieur.”

“Ah! But my police tell me that you have been in Paris but ten days.
You seem to make friends quickly.”

“Monsieur,” I answered, “I admit that ten days is not a long time, but
in that time M. le Duc de Richelieu has twice saved my life. It will
take me much longer than ten days to repay that indebtedness.”

Orleans looked at me a moment, and I fancied there was kindness in his
eye. I admit the man pleased me, for he had an engaging address and
an affable and kindly manner. I reflected that in his youth this man
had been of high courage and ambition, and that if he had become a
profligate, it was largely the fault of the king, who had always hated
him, and of the Abbé Dubois, who had been his preceptor. Doubtless
something of my thought appeared in my face, for the regent smiled
somewhat sadly.

“You have heard horrible stories about me, have you not, M. de
Brancas?” he asked. “It was I, they say, who poisoned the young Duke
and Duchess of Burgundy, who am an astrologer, an alchemist, and an
intimate friend of the devil.”

“Oh, monsieur,” I stammered, “but I have never believed such calumnies.”

“No,” said the regent, “I do not think that any one who knows me really
believes them. Only my enemies use them against me in order to pull me
down. But the kingdom will endure, no matter who assaults it. Do you
believe in fate?” he asked, abruptly.

“Undoubtedly, monsieur,” I answered, and I looked at him with
astonished eyes.

He smiled as he glanced at me.

“You may understand, then,” he said, “why I do not fear. For I believe
that it is fate which has committed to my hands the destinies of this
kingdom. And I intend to deserve the trust,--I intend to make it a
kingdom better worth living in.”

He fell silent for a moment, playing with a paper which lay before him
on the table. That he really meant what he said--that he had in his
heart many plans for the good of the people--I do not doubt. Ah, that
he had been stronger and turned a deaf ear to those who led him from
his purpose!

A tap on the door aroused him, and at his command an usher entered.

“What is it?” he asked, sharply.

“A deputation from the King of Sardinia to see Your Highness,” replied
the man.

The regent’s face brightened and he straightened up in his chair.
Evidently, the delegation was welcome.

“Ah, about the marriage,” and I bit my lips to repress the exclamation
which would have burst from me. “How many are in the deputation?”

“Three, monsieur.”

“Then I will receive them here.” The usher bowed and withdrew. “Nay,
stay, M. de Brancas,” he added to me, seeing that I made a movement
to leave the room. “This is not a state secret, but merely a family
affair, and one which I am quite willing for all the world to know.
Besides, there may be something which I wish you especially to hear.”

I felt my face crimson under his glance, whose hidden meaning I could
not doubt, but there was no time to protest, even had I dared to do so,
for the usher was back in a moment with the deputation at his heels.
As they approached the regent I gazed at them with astonishment, for I
could have sworn that they were livid with fear.

“You come from the King of Sardinia, I believe, messieurs,” said the
regent, graciously. “I trust that he is well.”

The deputies bowed as one man.

“He is well, Your Highness,” replied one of them, evidently the chief,
“and begs to present his respects and good wishes.”

“I thank him,” and the regent bowed in turn. “And what message do you
bring from him?”

I noticed that one of the men was wetting his lips convulsively, and
as he hesitated for an answer a tapestry was raised and a man entered,
whom I knew instinctively to be Dubois. The regent glanced at him
impatiently, but said nothing.

“You may remember, M. le Regent,” began the spokesman, in a trembling
voice, “that some days ago the king sent to you a request for the hand
of your daughter, Mlle. de Valois, in marriage.”

“I remember it very well,” said the regent, a storm gathering on his
brow as he began to suspect some unpleasant _dénouement_. “What then?”

“Since that time,” continued the ambassador, “the king has considered
the matter more carefully, and has found that he acted in haste, and
that his health will not permit this marriage. He desires, therefore,
to withdraw the request.”

“What!” cried the regent, bounding from his chair and seeming about to
fall upon the delegates, “withdraw the request? Do you know what you
are saying, messieurs? And what is the reason for this extraordinary
action?”

“I have already had the honor of telling Your Highness,” faltered the
man. I did not wonder that he had entered the room with livid face and
trembling knees.

“Pardon me,” interrupted a smooth voice, which made me start and filled
me with disgust, and the Abbé Dubois stepped forward, “I believe I can
throw some light upon the matter. I received a moment ago a message
from my agent who has been near the King of Sardinia, and I was about
communicating it to Your Highness when I found the delegation here. My
correspondent writes that the king yesterday received word of a certain
encounter of the night before in the gardens of the Palais Royal.” I
colored as I felt the speaker’s eyes on mine, but I returned his gaze
without winking. “In view of this information, he has changed his mind
about desiring to wed Mlle. de Valois.”

“So,” said the regent, falling into that menacing calm which I had
already seen in the Café Procope, “it is Richelieu who has done this.
Do you hear, monsieur?” he continued, turning to me with a deadly
purpose in his face. “I swear that if Richelieu crosses my path again
his head shall fall. But,” he asked, turning suddenly to Dubois, “how
did the King of Sardinia hear of this affair so quickly?”

“He was in Paris,” answered Dubois. “He came incognito a week since,
for the purpose, I think, of getting a glimpse of the princess before
asking for her hand. Hérault’s men have been watching him for me.”

“And where is he now?” asked the regent, eagerly.

“He left Paris at noon yesterday, monsieur,” and I thought to myself
that he had done well to be far away before that message was delivered.

“Ah!” said the regent, in a tone of disappointment; and then turning to
the deputation, “Messieurs, go back to your little king and tell him
that he shall not escape chastisement. What! the ruler of a toy island
in the Mediterranean dare to insult the regent of France? My arm is
long enough to reach him, messieurs, and my hand strong enough to crush
him. Go!”

The deputation hurried to the door, evidently only too glad to escape
so lightly, and at a sign from the regent Dubois followed them.

“You have heard, M. de Brancas,” said the regent, turning to me, his
face still red with anger, “this insult which has been put upon me, and
you understand, of course, that it is Richelieu I have to thank for
it, for I still believe that it was he and you who were in the Palais
Royal gardens. But I am going to be generous, monsieur. You are free.
I do not believe that in your heart you are my enemy. But keep away
from plotting and intrigue, try to find some honorable employment for
your sword, which, I have been assured, you know how to wield, and warn
Richelieu to trouble me no more, else I will crush him as I would a
fly.”

“I thank you, monsieur,” I said simply. “I shall not forget your
kindness.”

“I am sure of it,” said the regent, and motioned me to go.

I left the palace with a light heart, and made my way to the Hotel
de Richelieu. Jacques admitted me at once, and in a few words I told
the anxious fellow what had happened to his master, and that he would
probably return to Paris in the evening. This done, I took a bath and
donned a change of raiment, and then sat down before a meal which
Jacques had ordered for me, and which was in pleasing contrast to my
food of the past two days. I glanced at the window and saw that evening
was already at hand, and as Jacques brought the candles, I pulled
my chair before the fire, with a bottle of wine at my elbow. Louise
Dacour’s sweet face danced before me in the flames, and I wondered if
it were indeed to be my fortune to see her again before the morning
came.




CHAPTER IX

THE CONSERVE CLOSET


Eight o’clock sounding from the Théatins near by brought me out of
my revery. I reflected that it would be well to employ the two hours
remaining in examining the gardens of the Palais Royal and the building
itself, in so far as possible, on the same principle which makes the
general attentively study the field upon which he is placing his
forces. I therefore donned again the gray suit I had worn two evenings
before, and buckling a sword to my belt, called Jacques, told him where
I was going in case Richelieu should return and ask for me, and left
the house. The weather had continued warm and a full moon silvered the
city with a magic touch. It seemed to me that everybody was in the
streets. The Quai Malaquest was crowded, even the steps leading down
to the water and the broad landing-places being filled with people
watching the boats dropping down the river or painfully making way
against it.

The Hotel de Mailly, just opposite the Pont Royal, was a blaze of
light, and I saw that some fête was in progress. It was with difficulty
that I crossed the bridge, the press of carriages and throng of foot
passengers being so great that they threatened at times to burst over
the parapets. I finally won across and passed before the Tuileries,
casting a glance at the entrance of Madame du Maine’s salon, which was
brilliantly lighted as ever. Here, too, there was a great crowd, for
the gardens of the Tuileries were a popular pleasure-ground, and in the
evenings, even in severe weather, were thronged with people who had no
opportunity during the day of drawing a breath of pure air. The Rue
St. Vincent brought me out upon the Rue St. Honoré, the busiest street
in the great city, and down this I turned, and soon reached the Palais
Royal.

I was already familiar with that portion of the building which fronted
on the Rue St. Honoré, extending in a line broken only by the great
entrance from the Rue de Richelieu to the Bons Enfants, for I had
passed it more than once in my wanderings of the week I was alone in
Paris. It was in the gardens at the back and the buildings facing
them that I was most concerned, for I knew that the apartments of the
regent’s daughter must be somewhere in that part of the palace. I
turned down the Rue de Richelieu and entered the gardens through one
of the innumerable entrances which pierced the buildings along this
street. The broad avenues of stately chestnuts were thronged with
cavaliers and ladies, sumptuously dressed, many of them wearing masks,
from which I judged that ours were not the only love-affairs afoot. But
without pausing to more than glance at them, I approached the palace
and examined it intently.

At the right was a low wall enclosing a square in which were several
flower-beds, a fountain, and an avenue of trees. This I judged to be
a private park. The buildings on either side of this small garden
had blank walls, the windows having evidently been omitted to insure
greater privacy. The row of buildings fronting it, however, was lofty
and elegant, and built in a semi-detached fashion. I argued that I
could hardly be wrong in supposing these to be the apartments of the
members of the regent’s family.

Further examination confirmed this. To the left of the small garden
was a lofty building which resembled nothing so much as a soldier’s
barracks, and to the left of this again a high wall pierced by seven
gate-ways gave entrance to the inner court, which I did not attempt to
penetrate. Still farther to the left, and counterbalancing the space
occupied by the garden at the right, was another row of tall and ugly
buildings, which I decided were occupied by the servants of the palace
and attendants of the regent.

Having completed this survey, I turned my attention to the gardens. A
broad avenue of chestnuts extended along either side. Between these
avenues were wide lawns where many flower-beds doubtless bloomed in
summer, and in the middle of the garden was a circular pool in which
was a fountain. Farther down the avenue and near the end of the gardens
I came to the dryad fountain, which awakened in me so sweet a memory
that I lingered by it.

“M. de Brancas appears to be thoughtful to-night,” said a low, clear
voice at my elbow.

I turned with a start and saw a masked lady standing beside me, but the
voice and the beating of my heart told me in an instant who she was.

“Ah, Mlle. Dacour,” I exclaimed, bowing before her, “shall I tell you
of what I was thinking? It was of a night not long ago when on this
very spot I met the lady whom I love and whom I am dying to serve.”

“Not so loud, monsieur,” she commanded; “do you not see by this mask
that I wish to remain unrecognized? Come, let us move away from here.
’Tis not yet time for the rendezvous.”

“Would it were hours away instead of minutes, mademoiselle,” I cried,
“if it were permitted me to walk with you here!” and I gave her my arm,
vainly endeavoring to put into words the emotion which I felt. Perhaps
she understood, for she leaned against me lightly, and I caught the
sweet, faint perfume of her hair.

“M. le Duc will be here, will he not?” she asked.

“I trust so, mademoiselle,” I answered. “As I suppose you know, he was
released from the Bastille yesterday and ordered to join his regiment
at Bayonne. But he assured me that he would be at the fountain at ten
o’clock to-night.”

“Then he will be there,” said Mlle. Dacour, lightly. “Do you know,
monsieur, I am beginning to believe that you and Richelieu have the
power of achieving everything upon which you really set your hearts.”

“Would that I could believe so, mademoiselle!” I cried. “There is one
thing above all others upon which I have set my heart. Do you believe I
shall achieve that also?”

“How can I tell,” she answered, glancing at me with mischievous eyes,
“not knowing what this wonderful something is?”

“But can you not guess, mademoiselle?” I was trembling with joy and
apprehension, a trembling which she must have felt, for she quickened
her pace.

“Let us postpone the riddle, M. de Brancas,” she said. “’Tis time for
us to be at the fountain,” and we turned our steps thither.

I dared say nothing further, for I could not guess what was in her
heart and had not the courage to risk a rebuff. The sauntering couples
had grown less numerous as the night grew colder. Ah, had they held in
their hearts the flame of a love like mine no stress of weather could
have driven them apart! As we approached the fountain I saw a proud
figure standing near it, which I recognized in an instant.

“’Tis he,” I said, and we hastened forward.

“In faith, I had almost given you up, de Brancas,” cried Richelieu,
gayly, as he wrung my hand and bowed to my companion. “How did you get
out of that devil of a prison?”

“Very easily,” I answered, “since the regent was kind enough to open
the doors for me.”

“That was thoughtful of him, and I envy you the hour you have passed
with this fair lady.”

“Oh, M. le Duc,” cried Mlle. Dacour, “our conversation has been most
sober, and concerned mostly with your affairs.”

“De Brancas,” exclaimed the duke, “your friendship goes too far. Forget
me, I beg of you, when you are with Mlle. Dacour. I should never
forgive myself if I thought that my petty concerns interfered with the
discussion of more appropriate and more interesting things.”

“But how did you escape, monsieur?” I inquired. “The regent sent a
squadron of horse with you, did he not?”

“Oh, yes,” answered Richelieu, airily, “but they do not know how to
ride. Last night we stopped at Chartres. This morning we set off again
at a snail’s pace, and by noon reached Orleans, where we stopped
for dinner. I was ashamed of the company in which I found myself and
determined to leave it. So when the guards were in a half-somnolent
state, digesting their dinner like so many pigs, I knocked a couple
of them out of the way, mounted my horse, and rode leisurely back to
Paris by way of Etampes and Limours. ’Twas too easily done to mention
further.”

“But the guards are doubtless on your track, if they have not already
reached Paris!” I exclaimed.

“I suppose so,” said Richelieu, carelessly; “but how can they suspect
that I am here in the gardens of the Palais Royal talking to Mlle.
Dacour and yourself, and that I am presently to see Mlle. de Valois
again? Is it not so, mademoiselle?” he asked, turning to Louise.

“Oh, yes, M. le Duc,” she answered. “Come. She is awaiting you.”

“While I have been idling here!” cried Richelieu, and sprang forward.

“And I?” I asked.

“Come also, M. de Brancas,” she said, smiling over her shoulder.
“We have seen that you know how to be of service and that you are
discreet.”

I needed no second bidding.

A bank of clouds obscured the moon, but Mlle. Dacour advanced without
hesitation and led the way, as I had expected, towards the right
wing of the palace with the little garden in front. A gate in the
low surrounding wall yielded to her touch, but instead of advancing
straight forward across the garden she kept to the right in the shadow
of the buildings, where suddenly she stopped. I looked about to
discover the reason for this, for there was an apparently solid wall
beside us, when I saw her passing her hand slowly over it, and in a
moment a section of the masonry swung back, operated by a spring which
she had pressed.

“What wonder is this?” asked Richelieu.

“No wonder at all,” replied the girl. “Simply one of the devices
arranged many years ago by Cardinal Mazarin for purposes of his own.
There are many such in the building, if one only knows how to find
them. Enter, messieurs.”

We bowed our heads and entered, Mlle. Dacour following us and closing
the hidden door after her. There was a lighted lantern standing in one
corner of the small room in which we found ourselves, and she picked it
up and motioned us to follow. A long, narrow passage led to the right,
and after traversing this we came to a small spiral staircase. Up
this we mounted, and found that it ended apparently in a blank wooden
wall. Along this Mlle. Dacour felt with one hand, and as I watched her
closely, a section of the wall swung outward. We passed through and it
closed after us. I saw with astonishment that the wall through which
we had come was covered with shelving, filled with jars of various
preserved fruits, glasses of jelly, and boxes of sweetmeats. At that
instant Mlle. Dacour held up a warning finger and blew out the light.

“It is, indeed, an unexpected honor,” I heard a voice say, which I
recognized as that of the princess. “To what happy chance do I owe it,
monsieur?”

“Who can it be?” I heard Louise murmur, for we seemed to have
gravitated together in the dark, and the fact that she did not resent
my encircling arm filled me with unreasonable joy and made me bless the
circumstance which held us prisoner here.

“I come merely to bring you some news which I thought might interest
you,” replied a voice, which made me start and Louise tremble. “May I
not sit down, my dear daughter?”

“Come, let us go,” whispered Louise. “’Tis folly to remain here.”

“Nay, let us stay rather,” replied Richelieu in the same tone. “I am
curious to hear this news which the regent has brought. What say you,
de Brancas?”

“I am quite content to stay,” I answered, and I drew Louise closer to
me.

“As I suppose you know, mademoiselle,” the regent’s voice was saying
when the beating of my heart permitted me to hear, “the King of
Sardinia has withdrawn his proposal for your hand.”

“It has saved him a rebuff,” answered Charlotte.

“I am not so sure of that,” and the regent laughed. “But do you know
why he has done this? I see from your face that you do not. It was
because of a certain rendezvous in the gardens here, news of which had
got abroad and had reached the king’s ears. It seems I was not the only
one who saw you running towards your apartment that night, and the
others were not so discreet as I. Do you understand now, mademoiselle?”

I heard Richelieu utter an oath and fumble for the latch of the door.

“For God’s sake, keep quiet, monsieur!” I whispered. “There may be
other news.”

“True,” murmured Richelieu, and he stood where he was.

There was a moment’s silence in the outer room, and then the regent’s
voice continued,--

“But do not despair, Charlotte. I have found you another husband. Not a
king, perhaps, but of good birth and high rank, who is also complaisant
enough to overlook your little shortcomings.”

“And may I ask who this gentleman is?” inquired Charlotte’s trembling
voice.

“The Duc de Modena,” said the regent. “See, he has sent his portrait in
order that, by gazing at it, you may become acquainted with your future
husband before the wedding-day arrives.”

“The Duc de Modena!” exclaimed the girl. “Impossible! You must
be jesting, monsieur. The Duc de Modena is old enough to be my
grandfather.”

“I assure you that I am far from jesting, Charlotte,” and the regent’s
voice took a sterner tone. “As for his age, he certainly bears it well.
Here is his portrait. You can see for yourself that he is not an
uncomely man.”

“Take it away! I refuse to look at it!” she cried, and we heard a
scuffle and a crash of glass, which betokened the destruction of the
portrait.

Richelieu was again fumbling for the latch of the door, swearing softly
to himself, and again I restrained him.

“That was a foolish act, mademoiselle,” said the regent, “for now you
will not know your husband, even when you see him, for I swear that you
shall marry the Duc de Modena.”

“And I swear that I shall not!” screamed Charlotte. “I will die first!”

“And perhaps you wish some one else to die first also,” continued the
regent in an unchanged voice.

“Some one else? I do not understand, monsieur.”

“Permit me to tell you a little more of my news and you will understand
perfectly. You know, doubtless, that yesterday I released the Duc
de Richelieu from the Bastille and sent him to join his regiment at
Bayonne?”

“Well?”

“Well, to-day at noon, at Orleans, he chose to leave his escort and
return to Paris.”

“Continue, monsieur.”

“He was not closely pursued, for his escort had their orders. I
suspected that he would do something of the kind, and I also suspected
the reason. Do you know what I have sworn, mademoiselle?”

She did not answer, and there was a moment’s pause.

“I have sworn that Richelieu’s head shall fall if he comes in my way
again. I set a very pretty trap for him and he has walked straight into
it. In this trap you were the bait, my dear.”

I felt Louise trembling against me. Richelieu was breathing deeply.

“Yes, a trap,” cried the regent; “and if I mistake not, the mice
are already in it. Are there not mice in your conserve closet,
mademoiselle? I fancied I heard a noise there.”

Richelieu, unable to control himself longer, threw open the door with a
crash and sprang into the room.

“As you see, M. le Regent,” he cried, hoarse with rage, “the mice are
here. But I warn you that they have sharp teeth and know how to use
them.”




CHAPTER X

THE REGENT SCORES A POINT


Philip of Orleans was leaning back in a large chair facing the closet
in which we had been concealed, and he did not alter his position a
hair’s-breadth as Richelieu sprang into the room with drawn sword, I
but a pace behind him. Indeed, his face did not change a muscle, and he
turned towards us the smile he had employed with his daughter. But the
latter, recognizing her lover, sank into a chair, her face drawn and
gray with fear.

“Ah, M. le Duc,” said the regent, still smiling, “you remained among
the preserves longer than I believed you would. You have great
patience.”

“You shall never again have cause to say so, monsieur!” cried
Richelieu, white with anger, “for I swear to you my patience is
exhausted. Draw your sword and defend yourself.”

“Have patience a moment longer, monsieur,” said the regent, raising
his hand. “You do not seem to fully understand the situation. Outside
the secret door by which you entered a dozen of my guards are waiting,
with orders to arrest you or to kill you should you resist them. In the
antechamber there another dozen are stationed, whom a single cry would
bring to my assistance.”

“But I should still have time to kill you, monsieur,” cried Richelieu.

“Perhaps,” said the regent, calmly; “but I believe, nevertheless, that
I could hold you off for the few seconds it would require them to burst
open the door. Ah,” he continued, as though seeing me for the first
time, “here is M. de Brancas. Good-evening, monsieur. I did not think
that I should see you again so soon. Did you give M. le Duc the message
I intrusted to you?”

“No, monsieur,” I answered, and it seemed to me that we were cutting a
very poor figure in face of the regent’s easy nonchalance.

“You did wrong,” he said. “It would, perhaps, have saved him from this
trap, into which he came without knowing the danger.”

“What was this message?” asked Richelieu, disdainfully.

“Simply, monsieur,” answered the regent, coolly, “that the next time
I held you in my hands I should not let you go until your head and
shoulders had parted company.”

A low groan from the princess made Richelieu start.

“Do not concern yourself, I beg of you, Charlotte,” he cried. “These
are but empty vaporings, believe me. It seems to me that at present I
am not in this man’s power, but he in mine,” and with a movement swift
as lightning his sword was at the regent’s breast. “If you so much as
move a muscle, monsieur,” he said, “I swear to you upon my honor that I
will drive this sword through your heart.”

The regent did not move, only his smile grew broader. I could not but
admire the man.

“De Brancas,” cried Richelieu, “bind your scarf tightly over his mouth.
Do not lift your hand, monsieur,” he continued warningly to the regent.

I did as he bade me, marvelling that Orleans did not show more spirit.

“Now off with his hat and cloak,” continued Richelieu.

I obeyed, and still the regent made no sign. I began to fear some
further trap.

“What now, monsieur?” I asked.

“In faith, I do not know,” said Richelieu. “I might, indeed, don the
cloak and hat, go out and order the guard away so that we could escape,
but if we both leave, who will guard the regent? We might tie him, but
it must needs be most securely.”

“Go, go, monsieur!” I cried, seizing his sword, but still keeping the
point at the regent’s breast. “Put on the cloak and hat and go. I will
stay, and I answer for it he will make no outcry.”

“Impossible,” said Richelieu. “I go and leave you, my friend?”

“Yes, yes,” I answered. “It is not with me a matter of life and death.
Besides, with my sword at his heart I shall be able to make my own
terms.”

“True,” said Richelieu, but he still hesitated and turned towards Mlle.
de Valois.

“Ah, Charlotte,” he said, dropping on one knee before her and lifting
her hand to his lips, “it seems that I am never to be permitted to tell
you how I love you. But what is this?” he cried, looking up into her
eyes to find them closed. “Oh, what has happened?”

Mlle. Dacour hastened to her.

“She has merely fainted, M. le Duc,” she said after a moment. “It is
nothing. She will soon be herself again, I answer for it.”

“Thank God!” exclaimed the duke, and he covered with kisses the hand he
held in his own. “I cannot go leaving her so.”

“I implore you to go, monsieur!” I entreated. “We do not know what
instructions have been given the guards at the door. They may break in
at any moment.”

“I yield,” murmured Richelieu, and he picked up the regent’s cloak and
wrapped it about him; “but this is the last time that I will run away.
I shall take horse for Bayonne,” he continued. “With my regiment I
shall be safe. They would go to hell for me.”

But I looked at him gloomily, for I saw that even in that disguise
his lithe, upright figure bore little resemblance to the shorter and
stouter form of the regent.

“I fear the guards will suspect you, monsieur,” I said. “The disguise
is a poor one.”

“So be it!” cried the duke, flinging the cloak and hat from him and
picking up his own. “I will go without disguise, and trust to my sword
to win me passage.” He placed his hand at his side, and remembered
that I had his sword pressed against the regent’s heart. I drew my own
with my other hand, and presenting it to the prisoner’s throat, handed
Richelieu his own.

“Nay, wait a moment, M. le Duc,” cried Mlle. Dacour, as he started
towards the door; “there is another way.”

“And unguarded?” he asked, pausing.

“I believe so. Come,” and she led the way towards the apartment in the
rear of that in which we were.

“Adieu, de Brancas,” said Richelieu, pausing on the threshold. “If you
suffer for this I will bring all Brittany to your rescue,” and he was
gone.

I glanced at Orleans, but he made no sign. What new trap was he
preparing that he should sit here so contentedly? I strained my ears
for the clash of arms or for any outcry which would tell of the
discovery of the fugitive, but none came. The moments passed.

“He must be safe by this time,” I murmured.

“That being the case, let us put an end to this farce,” said the
regent, speaking quite distinctly through the scarf which encircled
his head, and putting up his hand, he tore the scarf away. My sword
quivered in my hand, yet I had never killed a man but in fair fight and
my heart failed me now. “Come, M. de Brancas,” he continued, calmly,
reading my thought in my face, “put down your sword. Did you think that
I should have sat quiet here so obligingly had I desired to detain the
duke? Surely, you gave me credit for more spirit, monsieur?”

“Then there was a trap?” I stammered, though not surprised at this
confirmation of my suspicions.

“Well, not precisely,” and the regent smiled. “But here is Mlle.
Dacour, who may have some news for you.”

She entered as he spoke and cast an alarmed and astonished glance at my
lowered sword and the regent’s smiling face.

“The duke is safe, is he not?” I cried, alarmed in my turn.

“I believe so,” she answered. “I let him out by the little door into
the Rue de Richelieu. There was no guard at the door and apparently we
were unobserved. I watched him until he turned into the Rue St. Honoré
and mingled with the crowd. Then I closed the door and returned.”

“Come,” said Orleans, rising, “you see that your friend is safe, de
Brancas, and that you have again outwitted me. Make your adieux to
Mlle. Dacour and leave her to attend to my daughter. Come with me. I
have two words to say to you,” and he picked up his hat and cloak and
walked towards the door.

“Oh, what does he mean?” whispered Louise, clutching at my sleeve, her
eyes dark with terror. “Does he mean to do you harm, Jean?”

“That one word would repay me for it all,” I said, looking down with
infinite love into that sweet, upturned face. “But I do not think so,
Louise. In faith, I believe it is he who has outwitted us this evening,
and not we who have outwitted him. But, oh, my life,” I whispered,
pressing her to me, “you care a little, then?”

“Go, go!” she said, pushing me towards the door. “Do not keep him
waiting. Do not make him angry, if he be not already so,” and she gave
me one glance that made my heart leap and closed the door upon me.
Something of my joy must have appeared in my face, for the regent, who
was standing just outside, looked at me and smiled quizzically, but
said nothing. I glanced about with astonishment, for there was not a
single guard in sight.

He noticed my glance and smiled yet more broadly, but still kept
silence. Motioning me to follow him, he led the way to the same room
where he had given me audience but a few hours before.

“Sit down, M. de Brancas,” he said, throwing himself into the large
chair which he had occupied in the afternoon. “Do you know,” he
continued, looking at me with a smile, “I greatly enjoy adventures
such as that of this evening. They give tone to the nerves and prove
that not all men are cowards. In times of peace, such as these, it
is often difficult to decide who is brave and who is not. In faith,
if our treasury were not so depleted I believe I would risk a little
war just for the pleasure of settling the question in regard to a few
people about whom I am undecided. I already know where to place you,
monsieur,” and I reddened at the compliment. “But,” he continued, and
he changed his tone suddenly, “I dare say you and Richelieu believed
you were executing a very clever little coup this evening. You
reminded me of nothing so much as of that ridiculous Sganerelle in M.
Molière’s ‘L’École des Maris,’ who while opposing his adversary with
all his might in reality plays into his hand.”

“I confess, M. le Duc,” I said, “that I am still somewhat in the dark.”

“No doubt,” he laughed. “Come, I will lay the cards on the table for
the sheer pleasure of looking at them myself. Did you really believe me
so anxious to deprive Richelieu of his head?”

“You certainly seemed violent enough, monsieur,” I said.

“Ah, well, and I should have kept my word under certain conditions.
But I am not of a blood-thirsty humor, and all I desired was to get
Richelieu out of the way because he interferes with certain of my
plans, as you know. Now, at Bayonne he will be quite as powerless to
interfere with me as in the grave. Three hundred leagues is a long
distance, monsieur.”

“Ah, ah!” I cried, a light beginning to break in upon me.

“Well,” continued the regent, “I knew very well that he would attempt
to regain Paris, for I suspected to-night’s rendezvous, monsieur, as I
suspect a great many other things,” and he glanced at me in a way which
made me wonder if the Cellamare conspiracy was really such a profound
secret as the conspirators believed. “Consequently I gave orders to
his guards not to press him too closely should he attempt to escape,
and I prepared a trap for him here. He was followed from the moment
he entered Paris until he disappeared through M. de Mazarin’s private
entrance below there. You do not seem to recognize the fact that I have
a well-organized police department, monsieur, the best that the world
has ever seen. I had resolved this: If Richelieu could escape from this
trap and set out for Bayonne as I expected, I should make no great
resistance. If he could not escape, he should die.”

The last words were uttered in a voice that chilled me.

“As you may guess,” continued the regent, “I was not sorry when he
carried out his plan of escape, for I believe that now he will really
go to Bayonne, and he cannot return from there in time to interfere
with me. He is a popular and powerful man, and while I should not
have hesitated in sending him to the block, it would have made me
new enemies, whom I could ill afford just at this time. Have you ever
known what it is, M. de Brancas,” he asked, suddenly, “to be hooted and
stoned through the streets?”

“No, monsieur,” I answered, surprised at the turn the conversation had
taken and at the gloomy cloud which had descended upon the regent’s
face.

“I have known what it is!” he exclaimed. “I, regent of France,--king in
everything but name. I have been abominated, hissed, spat upon. Even
now I am suspected, and Villeroi, the king’s governor, surrounds him
with ridiculous precautions to keep me away from him. I am trying to
turn the tide the other way; I am trying to make friends, hence I am
lenient with you and with Richelieu. I do not know why I am telling you
this,” he added in another tone, “only I admire brave men, whether they
are with me or against me. That is all; forget this conversation and
keep Richelieu from vexing me too far. You may go.”

I bowed and left the room with a dazed consciousness that I had seen a
side of the man which the world knew little of, and as I threaded my
way through the corridors and down the great staircase to the street I
pondered upon it wonderingly. When I heard, afterwards, as I often did,
of the excesses of the little suppers which he gave nearly every night
in his apartment, I did not find it in my heart to blame him.

The increasing cold and the lateness of the hour had driven the people
from the streets, and even the Rue St. Honoré was almost deserted as
I emerged from the Palais Royal. I returned as I had come, casting a
glance at the gloomy river as I crossed it, and was soon at the Hotel
de Richelieu. Jacques admitted me, and told me that his master had
secured a horse from the stables more than an hour before and was now
well on the road to Bayonne.

I was glad to learn that Richelieu had indeed left Paris, for I had
little hope that the regent would permit reasons of state to interfere
with his personal inclinations should the duke provoke him further.
Nor, indeed, had I much hope that Richelieu would remain at Bayonne,
despite his knowledge of the regent’s purpose. Philip of Orleans was
still in my mind as I went to bed, and as I dropped asleep I was
compelled to admit that he was a greater man than I had thought.




CHAPTER XI

THE HOUSE IN THE RUE VILLEDOT


Paris, with its ever-changing crowds, its narrow, clamorous streets,
its towering, tottering, dingy buildings, its contrasts of wealth and
poverty, light and shade, had not yet ceased to astonish me. It was
a wonderful place,--wonderful, at least, to me, who had known only
Poitiers,--and I, who had sat in the chimney corner at home with mouth
agape listening to the tales my grandfather--God rest his soul--was
wont to tell of it, had during the first few days hastened from place
to place,--from Notre Dame to the Place de Greve, from the Porte St.
Denis to the Great Chatelet,--constructing anew the scenes which had
made them all so famous, and delighted to find that they had remained
unchanged with the changing years. For half a century the city had
stood stagnant, the king choosing to lavish his money on his wars or
his pleasures rather than in beautifying his capital, or sinking into
his grave, his coffers empty, his subjects estranged, under the severe
dominion of Madame de Maintenon. But I found it beautiful, and in the
romance with which I clothed it forgot the uneven streets, the stenches
of the ill-kept gutters, the danger from the tottering walls. It was
to me a dream city, and, as in dreams, I used only one faculty in
regarding it,--the imagination.

I awoke with its uproar in my ears, and gazed with interest from my
window at the hurrying torrent of carriages and vehicles of every kind
which filled the street from side to side and constantly threatened to
engulf and overwhelm the foot passengers, hurled hither and thither
by the ceaseless crush. I watched with apprehension the attempts of
a pretty woman to cross the crowded roadway, and breathed a sigh of
relief when I saw her safely over. A tap at the door brought me from
the window, and I opened it to find Jacques bowing on the threshold.

“Good-morning, monsieur,” he said. “Is there anything you wish?”

“Nothing but breakfast, my dear Jacques,” I answered, heartily, for I
had taken a liking to his pleasant face and admired the unquestioning
way in which he carried out his master’s orders. “It will be served
soon, I trust.”

“It is awaiting monsieur,” he said, and he led the way to the lower
floor.

“Have you heard anything further from Richelieu?” I asked, when I had
seated myself at the table and he was stationed behind my chair.

“Only a message from him this morning, asking if monsieur had arrived
home safely, and stating that he himself had reached Limours without
misadventure and would be at Blois to-night, where he would consider
his future course.”

“Pray heaven that it take him on to Bayonne!” I said, fervently. “He is
better away from Paris for a time.” But I had little hope that he would
think of caution. “If you send a message to him,” I added, “tell him
that I am quite safe and that he need have no concern on my account.”
Yet I knew very well that it was not I but Mlle. de Valois who would
bring him back to Paris.

The day was bright and warm and I left the house with a light heart.
I reflected that I could do nothing better than call at the salon of
Madame du Maine and renew my offer of service, but the day was not yet
far advanced, and I lingered upon the quays, where a thousand noises
mingled in one indescribable uproar which fascinated me. Boats were
discharging their cargoes at the landing-places, a row of boys sat upon
the piers fishing, the crowd eddied ceaselessly back and forth, and
above all the din arose the cries of the street venders of vegetables,
fruit, fish, milk, and I know not what, for their incomprehensible
jargon, which I vainly endeavored to understand, gave me no clue to
the wares they were selling. At every step there was a beggar, a blind
man, or a street musician. The water-carriers, of whom I was told there
were not less than twenty thousand in Paris, carried bells, which they
rang with an ardor nothing seemed to diminish. Here was a woman selling
oysters, which she carried in a huge hamper on her back; another was
bent almost double under a great bundle of brooms; a third was selling
flowers, which were displayed on a broad shallow basket strapped to
her hips. Men were crying the most impossible things,--toy windmills,
boot-laces, buckets, bellows, prints, and even rat-traps. Here was a
tinker, carrying with him his fire of charcoal, his anvil, and all
his tools; there a cobbler, who was sitting against the wall, in a
corner out of harm’s way, mending a shoe. One fellow with a loud voice
and a very red face endeavored to sell me a ticket in some lottery,
and another offered me a bottle of magic ink, which would fade after
a certain time and leave no trace behind it. He told me it was of
especial value and in great demand for love-letters, since, after the
second day, the writing would entirely disappear and so compromise no
one. I laughed at him, and told him I had no use for his ink, since I
had never in my life written a love-letter, whereat he showed me, with
a great air of mystery, a wizard’s ring, which he was willing to part
with for a pistole, and which he assured me would win me the love of
any woman whose hand I might touch while I wore it. I inquired why it
was that he was willing to sell so great a treasure, and he answered
that it had made his life a burden to him, so closely and constantly
was he pursued by the women who had fallen victims to the talisman.
A crowd had gathered around us as we talked, and when I turned away,
still laughing, he appealed to other of the listeners, and I doubt not
managed to strike a bargain with one of them. I did not wait to see the
conclusion of the matter, but struggled through the crowd, and with
considerable effort gained the other side of the river, where I finally
paused to take breath in the Rue des Poulies.

Nothing had astonished me so much in Paris as the height of the
buildings, and I looked with interest at those about me. They
straggled into the air six, seven, or eight stories, as though each
successive generation, prohibited by the royal edict from building
without the walls, had at last found a home by adding an extra story
to the ancestral domiciles. The flood of houses, which had long before
overwhelmed the walls of the old city, was fast piling up within the
new walls as within a great reservoir, and another inundation of the
surrounding country could not be far distant. Each house had its sign,
projecting far into the street, and from every story protruded a spout,
which, in rainy weather, precipitated torrents of dirty water upon the
passers-by. The fronts of the houses were for the most part of wood
and plaster and, where not concealed by bills, indescribably dirty.
Many of them seemed on the point of falling down, and were saved from
that fate only by leaning against their more fortunate neighbors. Bills
and flaring posters were everywhere, bearing some piece of political
satire or morsel of scandalous gossip.

I turned into the Rue St. Honoré, and was soon again in the midst of a
tumult as great as that upon the quays, only here the crowd was more
fashionable, and there were in consequence more beggars. I knew no one
in it, so, unconsciously catching the spirit of the place, I hurried on
past the Palais Royal, at which I cast a lingering glance, wondering if
it would ever be my good fortune to join the throng of gayly dressed
courtiers and enter boldly with them. Turning down the Rue St. Louis,
I soon gained the Tuileries. The entrance to that portion of the
palace, the Pavilion Marsan, occupied by Madame du Maine was almost
deserted, but a lacquey who was lounging in the vestibule took in my
name, and, returning in a moment, informed me that I was to enter.
He led me to a small room at the left, where I found the duchess and
Mlle. de Launay together, busily occupied in examining a vast number of
formidable-looking papers.

“Enter, M. de Brancas,” cried the duchess, seeing me pause upon the
threshold. “You are not intruding. In fact, you come most fortunately
and just at the moment when Mlle. de Launay and I were wishing for
some one like yourself, who could be trusted.”

“Thank you, madame,” I said. “I shall try to merit your trust,” and I
entered and bowed to both the ladies. “I had scarcely expected to find
you at work so early.”

“Ah! it seems to me that we never have time for repose,” exclaimed the
duchess. “There is so much to be done and so few whom I can trust to
do it. But tell me, monsieur, what has become of Richelieu? I have not
seen him for an age.”

I related briefly the adventures of the duke and myself, taking care to
say nothing of my last conversation with the regent, and adding that
as Richelieu was _en route_ for Bayonne, I believed it best for him to
remain there for a time.

“Yes,” said the duchess, thoughtfully, when I had finished, “I believe
so myself. The match will soon be applied here, and then he would have
to be at Bayonne in any case. But this morning, M. de Brancas, I wish
to ask your company for Mlle. de Launay, who has an errand to do which
will not permit the use of a carriage and who finds it impossible to
thread these crowded streets without an escort.”

“I shall be only too happy to be of service,” I answered, and at a sign
from the duchess her companion withdrew to make ready for the street.

“You can judge to what straits we are reduced, monsieur,” continued
madame, with a note of sadness and discouragement in her voice, the
first I had ever heard there, “when I tell you that Mlle. de Launay
is the only one there is to whom I can intrust missions which require
a certain courage and finesse. There are many, it is true, who offer
their services, but none upon whom I can rely as upon this girl.”

I could think of nothing to say that would not be mere banality, and
as she busied herself carefully tying up a bundle of papers, I looked
at her more attentively. I was not surprised to find her face pale and
careworn, and I did not doubt that she was passing sleepless nights
and harassing days in the endeavor to get all the threads of this
conspiracy straightened out and properly arranged,--that she worked
while others merely talked. Mlle. de Launay soon returned, and the
duchess handed her the packet of papers which I had seen her arrange.

“You will find all the needed information there,” she said, “and
remember that you cannot urge too strongly the need of haste. Every
moment I fear that something will happen to render all our work
useless. There, hasten,” she continued, dismissing us with a gesture,
“and do not keep me waiting longer than necessary for your report.”

“We will not make ourselves unnecessarily conspicuous, monsieur,” said
my companion, as we left the room, and she led the way along a wide
hall running to the rear of the building. We descended into a small
court, bounded on one side by a high wall and on the other by a row of
buildings, and passed across this to a gate in the wall at the end.
She opened the gate with a key she took from her pocket, and locked it
after us. We found ourselves in a narrow little street which opened
into the Rue de l’Echelle.

“Our mission is, then, a secret one?” I asked, as we entered this
street.

“No, not just that,” answered the girl, smiling at me, “and yet it is
well to be cautious. We are going to see a gentleman who lives in the
Rue Villedot. I have been there many times. But there are always a
dozen police spies hanging about the entrance to the Tuileries, and I
avoid them when I can.”

“Mademoiselle,” I asked, suddenly, “the police department is well
organized, is it not?”

“Splendidly,” she answered. “This man, Hérault, who is at the head of
it, has a genius for the work, and no one is safe from him.”

“Do you think, then,” I continued, “that the plans of Madame du Maine
are altogether unknown to him?”

“I can only hope so,” she said, and her face grew lined with anxiety.
“Yet, even if he did suspect, that would not be enough. He cannot
know the details of our plans, and without something more definite
than suspicion even the regent would not dare raise his hand against
a princess of the blood. We are hurrying our preparations forward as
rapidly as we can, and hope to be the ones to strike the first blow.
Everything depends upon that,” she added. “We have gone too far and the
end is now too near to turn back, monsieur, or we might, perhaps, await
a better time.”

“But success,--can you win success?” I persisted.

“It is certain,” and her face was alight with enthusiasm, “provided
only we are undisturbed a single week longer.”

We had again reached the busy portion of the city, and the uproar
drowned our voices. Besides, I had sufficient to think about in
protecting my companion from the crowd of passing carriages.

“We must hasten,” she cried, suddenly, “or we shall be caught in the
rain.”

I glanced at the sky and saw that she was right, for a bank of clouds
from which came rumblings of distant thunder was every moment growing
more threatening. We turned hurriedly down the Rue des Frondeurs,
and in a moment had plunged into one of the irregular and squalid
quarters of the city. But the girl went forward without hesitation and
as though well acquainted with the road. We passed through a maze of
short streets running in all directions, apparently at haphazard, and
suddenly my companion paused at a corner house.

“This is the place,” she said. “The man I have come to see lives on the
second floor. That is his window you see up there. Do you await me
here, M. de Brancas. I will be back in a moment,” and without waiting
for me to answer, she plunged into the dark and narrow entrance.

I glanced up and down the street apprehensively, for her statement
as to the efficiency of the police department, added to my own vague
fears, had filled me with alarm, but we were seemingly unobserved. A
crowd of poorly dressed people was passing in either direction, and
a rabble of children was playing in the gutter in the middle of the
street, but no one paused to cast a second glance at me. The darkened
sky had thrown the street into a gloom which rendered the sagging
houses threatening and terrible, an effect which an occasional flash
of lightning served to heighten. The moments passed, and I paced
impatiently up and down before the door, wondering what had detained
the girl. I had just determined to mount the stairs and find out for
myself when I heard a crash of glass above me and a scream for help in
a woman’s voice, which I recognized only too plainly.

In an instant I was through the doorway and stumbling up the dirty
staircase with drawn sword, cursing the darkness which delayed my
progress, I arrived at the first landing and paused a moment to listen,
but heard nothing. I reflected that the window she had shown me was on
the floor above, and mounted cautiously, not knowing what the danger
might be towards which I was advancing. Again I paused to listen,
but still heard nothing. I strained my ears, and in a moment fancied
I heard a moan. I felt before me and found a door. I applied my ear
to the keyhole and heard a second moan, which could not this time be
mistaken. With a bound I flung my body against the door. It gave way
with a crash and I was precipitated into the room beyond. By an effort
I kept my feet, and at a glance I saw in one corner a man bending over
the prostrate form of my companion.

He turned a startled face towards me as I entered and half started to
rise, but I was upon him ere he could draw his weapon, and ran him
through by the mere force of my onslaught. He fell like a log, but at
the moment I turned to the prostrate girl I heard hurrying feet upon
the stair without, and I sprang towards the door, my sword gleaming red
in my hand, to meet this new danger.




CHAPTER XII

A CONFERENCE WITH CELLAMARE


“What have we here?” cried a voice from the staircase. I could perceive
no one because of the darkness, but I knew from the accent that the
speaker was not a Frenchman.

“Enter, monsieur,” I said, realizing that I could do nothing against an
antagonist who remained invisible. “Enter, and we shall doubtless be
able to arrive at an explanation.”

“Ah, ah!” cried the voice again, “but I do not know you, monsieur.
Stay; do not move,” he continued, as I advanced a step towards the
door. “I have you covered with two pistols, and I desire you to remain
where you are for the present. I might miss with one, but I should
surely kill you with the other. Now, pray tell me what you are doing in
this room.”

“I heard a lady cry out in distress,” I answered, reflecting rapidly
that the statement of this simple fact could compromise no one and that
it was necessary to gain time. “I ran up the stairs, broke open the
door, and cut down a scoundrel whom I found choking her.”

“And where is this lady, may I ask?” inquired the voice in an anxious
tone.

“In the corner there, and I doubt not in great need of attention. But
I am growing weary of this questioning, monsieur,” and I made another
step towards the door.

“One question more,” said the man. “Did you accompany the lady hither?”

“Yes,” I answered, without hesitation.

“Then everything is as it should be,” he cried, “and you have rendered
me a great service. Come, put down your sword as I put up my pistols.
It was I whom the lady came to see. You will believe this when I tell
you that she is Mlle. de Launay and that she comes from Madame du
Maine,” and as he spoke he entered the room, his pistols in his belt.
I saw him to be a man between fifty and sixty years of age, with a
soldierly carriage and haughty bearing which the dark cloak he wore
could not conceal. I was not surprised, therefore, when he threw off
his cloak and disclosed beneath it a handsome cavalier’s dress. His
moustache, which described a straight line across his upper lip, was
slightly tinged with gray, and from the darkness of his skin and the
fire in his eyes I judged him to be a Spaniard or Italian.

“The devil,” I thought, “have I stumbled into another love-affair? It
seems to me that I have enough on my hands already,” but I continued my
survey of the new-comer without saying a word.

“Come, monsieur,” he said, with a smile, “it is evident that you do
not know me. Before I can tell you who I am I must ask you one other
question. You are, perhaps, acquainted with certain plans of Madame du
Maine?”

“Perhaps,” I answered.

“And you were aware that Mlle. de Launay was to leave some papers here?”

“Yes, monsieur.”

“But you did not know for whom the papers were intended,--is it not so?”

“That is so, monsieur.”

“Well, I will tell you for whom they were intended. They were intended
for Antonio Giudice, Duke of Giovennazzo and Prince of Cellamare,
ambassador of Spain at the court of Versailles. In other words,
monsieur, they were intended for myself.”

I had for a moment suspected what was coming, and it needed no second
glance to tell me that he was speaking the truth.

“Ah, M. le Prince,” I cried, sending my sword into its sheath, “I am
indeed glad to see you! But who, then, was the fellow whom I cut down?”

Cellamare bent over the man and looked into his face.

“’Tis a servant of mine!” he exclaimed. “He came to me with excellent
recommendations a month ago and I employed him. I sent him on here to
inform mademoiselle that I should be a few moments late.”

“Doubtless a police spy, then,” I said. “He is not dead, and perhaps we
may get something more out of him. But come, let us close the door and
see what injury has been done her.”

Cellamare sprang to the door and soon had it in place again, while
I kneeled beside her body and placed my hand above her heart. I was
overjoyed to feel it still faintly beating. Stooping closer, I saw that
she was unconscious, and some livid marks about her neck indicated
that the brute had been choking her.

“Good,” I said, “I believe that she has only fainted. Could you procure
some water and some wine, monsieur?”

Cellamare went into an adjoining room, and in a moment returned with a
glass of water and a bottle of wine. I dipped my handkerchief in the
water and bathed her face. In a moment she opened her eyes.

“Ah, that is better,” I said, supporting her head with my arm. “Now
drink some of this, mademoiselle,” and I filled a second glass with
wine and held it to her lips. Mechanically she swallowed it, and I saw
the color returning to her face.

“Oh, what has happened?” she whispered. “Where am I?”

“Quite safe, I assure you, mademoiselle,” answered Cellamare, and
between us we assisted her to her feet.

She looked at him a moment.

“Ah, yes, I recollect,” she cried, suddenly. “I was bringing you the
papers. Where are the papers?” and her hands flew to her waist in an
agony of apprehension, which I fully shared. “They are safe,” she said,
and she drew from the folds of her dress the packet of papers which
I had seen Madame du Maine give her. “Take them, M. le Prince,” she
added, handing them to him, “and now tell me what has happened.”

“Do you tell us first what happened to you, mademoiselle,” I suggested,
“then we can better understand the story.”

“Well,” she said, quickly, “when I left M. de Brancas at the foot of
the stairs,” Cellamare bowed to me as she mentioned my name, “I ran
quickly up and knocked at the door of this room. A man whom I did not
know opened it. He said he had been sent to meet me by M. de Cellamare.
He told me to enter, and closed the door behind me. He continued that
M. de Cellamare would not be able to keep the appointment, and that
I was to leave any papers I might have for him and he would get them
later in the day. Something in the man’s manner frightened me, and I
replied that I should not leave the papers, but would make another
appointment with M. le Prince. I started to leave the room, when he
sprang upon me. I threw him off and rushed to the window, broke it,
and screamed for help, hoping that M. de Brancas would hear me. At that
instant I felt strong fingers on my throat and knew no more.”

I related briefly my share in the adventure, and Cellamare repeated
what he had already told me in reference to the stranger.

“Perhaps he can tell us something more,” I suggested, as Cellamare
concluded, and I dragged the prostrate man to the wall and propped him
against it. He groaned as I did so. “Ah, come,” I said, “he is not
dead yet. Let us see where my sword went through him.” I stripped his
doublet from his shoulder and found the blood welling from a wound
which had undoubtedly pierced his breast, but which was yet some
distance above his heart. “This will not kill him if his blood be
good,” I remarked, and bathed the wound with my wet handkerchief. The
bleeding slowly ceased and I tied the fellow’s scarf tightly over it.
“Let us see, now, if we cannot bring him to consciousness,” and prying
his teeth apart, I forced a little wine between his lips. He groaned
again, and this time opened his eyes. He seemed to comprehend at once
where he was, for he glanced from me to Cellamare and back again, and
grew even more livid, if such a thing were possible.

“Do not fear,” I said, “we are not going to harm you further, and you
will soon get well of this little wound if you are properly cared for.
Now we will care for you, but only on one condition.”

His eyes questioned me.

“The condition is,” I continued, answering their glance, “that you tell
us for whom you wished to secure these papers. Do you agree?”

He looked at me again and then at Cellamare, but there was no relenting.

“Yes,” he whispered.

“Then who sent you here?”

“Hérault.” We all started at the word, for if Hérault suspected, there
was no telling what might happen.

“He told you to enter the employ of M. de Cellamare?”

“Yes.”

“And provided you with recommendations?”

“Yes.”

“For what purpose?”

“To watch him.”

“But why?”

“I do not know. I was to obtain possession, if I could, of any papers
or correspondence he might receive from Madame du Maine.”

Again we exchanged a glance.

“And Hérault told you that these papers might be brought by Mlle. de
Launay?”

“Yes.”

“What were you to do with the papers when you had once obtained them?”

“I was to leave them at a certain place.”

“Where?”

The fellow hesitated, but a glance at our faces told him that we would
take no equivocation.

“With the concierge of the house at the corner of the Rue Jean St.
Denis and the Rue de Beauvais,” he answered, at last.

“Have you taken any papers there as yet?”

“No. This afternoon was the first chance I had to get any.”

I paused to consider.

“This man can tell us nothing further,” I said, after a moment. “Let us
put him out of the way for a time.”

“There is a bed in the next room,” said Cellamare.

We lifted him as gently as we could and laid him on the bed. Then we
returned to the larger room and carefully closed the door between the
two.

“It seems to me that we are lost,” and Cellamare threw himself into a
chair, his face dark with disappointment.

“Oh, do not say so, monsieur!” and Mlle. de Launay, who had been a
silent spectator of the foregoing scene, wrung her hands in anguish.

“But if Hérault knows,” protested the prince.

“Perhaps he does not know,” I answered. “Perhaps he only suspects,
without knowing exactly what to suspect. He has doubtless observed
that many couriers have passed between the Spanish embassy and the
court of Madrid. He has, perhaps, been told that Madame du Maine and M.
de Cellamare exchange many communications. He suspects something, he
knows not what, and he is trying to find out more. This in itself would
not be very serious. Only,” I added, “we must prevent his finding out
anything more.”

“You may be right, monsieur,” and Cellamare’s face brightened a
little. “But to prevent his finding out anything more,--that will be a
difficult task.”

“He must be thrown on the wrong scent.”

“How do you mean?”

“You heard what disposition was to be made of the papers?”

“Yes.”

“Well, to-night a package of papers will be left for M. Hérault at this
house in the Rue de Beauvais. They will be papers from Madame du Maine
to yourself. Only, they will have no connection with this enterprise,
but with something quite different. In a word, they will be papers
prepared expressly for the eye of M. Hérault. You understand?”

“Perfectly,” and Cellamare’s eyes sparkled with their old brilliancy.
“The plan is admirable, monsieur; permit me to compliment you.”

I bowed.

“Perhaps monsieur could suggest some subject upon which correspondence
would be necessary, and which would yet not have the air of a
conspiracy,” I continued.

“I have it!” cried Mlle. de Launay. “Let us prepare a lot of
petitions, papers, and memorials praying the King of Spain to intercede
with the regent to annul the decree which shuts the Duke du Maine from
the throne. This would be a subject requiring no little correspondence,
and at the same time would be nothing concerning which the regent could
take action.”

“Excellent,” I said; “but these papers must be prepared at once,
mademoiselle.”

“The duchess already has a thousand such,” and the girl smiled. “She
has been preparing them for many months. It will be necessary only to
tie them together. But how shall we get them into Hérault’s hands?”

“I will deliver them,” I said. “Nobody knows me in Paris.”

“Good. That is arranged, then,” said Cellamare. “Now as to these papers
which you have just given me, mademoiselle. Let us see what they
contain.”

At that moment there was a blinding flash of lightning, and the rain,
which had been long delayed, came down in torrents. The room grew very
dark, and Cellamare arose and lighted two candles which stood on the
table.

“These papers, M. le Prince,” said Mlle. de Launay, as he sat down
again, “contain a detailed account of the aid we may expect in France.
Let me have them a moment.”

Cellamare shot a questioning glance in my direction, which the girl
intercepted.

“We have already had sufficient proof of the fidelity of M. de
Brancas,” she said.

“True!” he cried, heartily. “Pardon me, I pray you, monsieur.”

“In affairs of this kind,” I said, with a smile, “it is necessary for
one to be cautious. I am quite ready to withdraw,” and I arose from my
chair.

“Stay, I beg of you,” and Cellamare also arose and pressed me back.
“Your advice will be invaluable.”

The girl opened the packet and drew out one of the papers.

“This,” she said, “is a statement of the forces which will muster to
our support in Brittany. As you see, we can count upon nearly all the
noble houses. Here is the name of each of them and the number of troops
each can muster.”

“Good,” said Cellamare, taking the paper and looking it over
carefully. “This promises at least eight thousand men.”

She opened another paper.

“Here is a statement from Bayonne,” she said. “The town will be opened
to the Spanish troops without resistance. The regiment quartered there,
which is commanded by the Duc de Richelieu, will join the Spanish army,
and the town has also promised to raise a regiment.”

“A good point,” and Cellamare scanned this paper as he had the first.
“This will give us a stronghold on the border of France, through which
we can advance upon Paris. And two regiments are not to be laughed at.”

Mlle. de Launay opened a third paper.

“This is a statement of de Mesmes, president of parliament,” she said.
“He has gained to our interests a majority of the members, and so
soon as we strike a blow the parliament will declare for us and will
instruct the citizen soldiery of Paris to take up arms in our behalf.”

“Ah, ah!” and Cellamare’s eyes were sparkling. “This is best of all. We
shall be able to strike the regency right at its heart.”

The girl doubtless felt the enthusiasm of the Spaniard, but she
preserved an admirable composure. As for me, I judged it best to use my
ears and not my tongue.

“This is a statement from Cardinal de Polignac,” she continued, opening
yet another paper. “It was he, you may remember, who in 1797 caused the
Prince de Conti to be chosen King of Poland, although, unfortunately,
he never ascended the throne. Still, the Poles idolized him and they
remember Polignac. Five thousand lances are assembling at the frontier
and will be ready to follow him into France in a week’s time. They are
concentrating at two points, Arlon and Landau.”

“Nothing could be better!” cried Cellamare, and as for myself, I
confess that I felt slipping from me one by one the doubts I had
entertained as to the success of the conspiracy.

“The other papers are of less importance,” she concluded, “though
important enough in themselves. These, for instance, are pledges of
support from the Marquis de Pompadour and the Marquis de Laval, who
will bring us the united strength of the Montmorencies. Here are
some papers from the Abbé Brigaut, who has attended to much of the
correspondence for us, assisted by the Chevalier de Menil, and who
assures us that half the remaining nobility of the kingdom, who have
been insulted by the regent, will be with us. And here are a dozen
others of the same kind.”

“All of which would have made interesting reading for the regent,” I
remarked, dryly, and Cellamare nodded thoughtfully.

“And now, M. le Prince, what have you done?” demanded the girl,
with blazing eyes. “Madame du Maine wishes me to urge haste above
everything. To-day’s affair shows we have no time to lose.”

“I received a letter this morning from Cardinal Alberoni, prime
minister of Spain,” answered Cellamare, “and he assures me that the
armies of Spain will be ready to cross the frontiers of France in a
week’s time.”

“We shall, then, send out instructions to all our allies to strike the
first blow one week from to-day. Do you agree?”

“One week from to-day let it be,” said Cellamare, his hands trembling
with emotion.

“This is the fifteenth of December. One week from to-day will be the
twenty-second. At seven in the morning, then, let Philip of Spain be
proclaimed regent of France. Do you your part, M. le Prince, and
Madame du Maine will do hers.” I swear she was the coolest of the three.

“It is agreed,” and Cellamare bowed.

“Come, monsieur,” said mademoiselle to me, “let us hasten back and
inform the duchess of our decision.”

“But what of our wounded friend in the room there?” I asked.

“I will attend to him,” said Cellamare, “and see that he is kept in a
place where he can do no harm.”

“All is arranged then; come,” and Mlle. de Launay hurried from the room
and down the stairs.

The clocks were striking three as we reached the street. The sky had
cleared and the sun was shining, but the rainfall had been very heavy.
The streets were filled with water almost to the houses, and the wide
gutters in the middle had been converted into great turgid streams.
Across these planks were thrown here and there, forming rude bridges
for the accommodation of pedestrians. We picked our way along the
slippery stones near the houses, my companion choosing a circuitous
route which finally brought us again to the Rue des Frondeurs, and
along it to the Rue St. Honoré. Here the floods of water from the
neighboring streets had concentrated into a perfect river, through
which a continuous stream of carriages splashed, making it impossible
to keep the bridges in position.

“Oh, what shall we do?” she cried, as we stopped at the edge of this
torrent. “We must not remain here. How are we to cross?”

“I see only one way, mademoiselle,” I answered, and before she could
protest I caught her up in my arms and was splashing through the muddy
water. Just as I reached the middle of it a passing carriage barred my
progress. An irresistible attraction drew my eyes to the window, and I
saw there the face of Louise Dacour. She was looking into my eyes, a
disdainful smile just curving her lips. I bowed to her, but she made no
sign of recognition, and in an instant had disappeared.




CHAPTER XIII

AT THE THÉÂTRE-FRANÇAIS


I left Mlle. de Launay at the Tuileries, promising to call at eight
o’clock for the papers, and returned to the Rue des Saints Pères in no
very happy frame of mind. Why Mlle. Dacour had chosen to ignore me was
a problem which I tried in vain to solve, and preoccupied with this
mystery, I pushed my way through the crowd without seeing it. Jacques
had dinner awaiting my return, and after changing my clothes, which
had been sadly bespattered in the passage of the Rue St. Honoré, I
hastened to appease my hunger. When I was once more alone before the
fire with a bottle of wine at my elbow, I turned again to the solution
of the problem. But in all those sweet perplexities of woman’s nature
I was the merest novice,--though I have since grown wiser by dint of
much careful study,--and I puzzled my head to no purpose. Twilight came
while I sat there musing, and Jacques entered with the candles.

“Has monsieur decided where he will spend the evening?” he asked.

“Why, no,” I said. “I have an engagement at eight o’clock, but ’twill
keep me no longer than half an hour.”

“Permit me to remind monsieur that M. le Duc has always places reserved
at the Opéra and the Comédie, and that these are at monsieur’s service.”

“A thousand thanks, Jacques, for your thoughtfulness!” I cried. “And
what is the programme for this evening?”

“The Opéra will be closed, as a new piece is in preparation there, but
at the Comédie will be produced M. Voltaire’s tragedy of ‘Œdipe,’ which
has created such a furore since its first representation a month ago.”

In fact, I had myself seen many of the bills announcing the tragedy and
had heard some talk of it on the streets.

“I shall go,” I said. “Thanks, again, for your thoughtfulness, Jacques.”

“I will see that M. le Duc’s place is at the disposal of monsieur,” he
answered, and withdrew.

I looked over my wardrobe with care and selected the most elaborate
costume I possessed, as best suited to the fashionable world of the
theatre into which I was about to venture. I heard seven o’clock
striking as I finished my toilet, and knowing that I had no time to
lose, I buckled on my sword and left the house, declining a carriage
which Jacques offered me, since my first errand must be done on foot.
It was not yet eight o’clock when I reached the Tuileries and entered
the salon, but the usual crowd had already assembled, and several of
the men bowed to me as I passed. One of these was the Chevalier de Rey,
who stopped me for a moment.

“Has Richelieu left the city, monsieur?” he asked.

“He has joined his regiment at Bayonne,” I answered.

“Ah,” said de Rey, with a smile of intelligence, “the time, then, is
not far distant,” and he turned away with his news to a neighboring
group.

I continued on my way down the room, and met Mlle. de Launay as she
entered.

“You are prompt, M. de Brancas,” she said. “Here are the papers,” and
she handed me a packet resembling in outward appearance at least that
she had given to Cellamare in the afternoon. “I fancy they will keep
Hérault, Dubois, and the regent busy for a time,” she added, with a
smile.

“I trust so, at all events,” I answered, as I took the papers.

“Wait a moment, monsieur,” she continued, placing her hand lightly upon
my arm as I turned away. “Madame appreciates thoroughly your share in
this afternoon’s adventure and charged me expressly to thank you in her
name. She realizes that but for you our plans would even now be in the
hands of the regent.”

“I was glad to be of service,” I said, simply, “and hope to prove this
many times within the next few weeks.”

“I believe you, monsieur,” and she looked into my eyes. “Madame and
myself both feel that we can trust you. We are happy to have found such
an ally.”

I thanked her again and took my leave, as Polignac came to us and
engaged her in conversation, for I was ill at ease. It seemed to me
that I was being dragged into the conspiracy much deeper than I had
bargained for, and yet I saw no way to extricate myself, however much
I might wish to do so. And I realized more vividly than ever that I was
not made for intrigue.

I was anxious to have the errand done, and I hurried from the place
and made my way to the Rue Jean St. Denis, down which I turned until I
reached the Rue de Beauvais. Here an unforeseen difficulty confronted
me, for though I knew I was to leave the papers with the concierge of
the corner house, I did not know which corner. As the Rue Jean St.
Denis ended here, there were only two corners to choose from, and
I looked at these with attention. The building on the right was a
handsome edifice of four stories, extending down the Rue de Beauvais to
the Rue Fromenteau, and along the Rue Jean St. Denis a corresponding
distance. I reflected that Hérault would not be likely to choose the
concierge of such an imposing edifice as a depository for his papers,
and turned my attention to the opposite side. The corner house here
was a small one, stuck in, as it were, to fill an angle left by the
two adjoining buildings. It was only two stories in height, the ground
floor being occupied by a cabaret which seemed well patronized. I
decided at once that this was the place, and, pulling my hat down over
my eyes and wrapping my cloak about my face, I approached it.

I looked about, but could discover no sign of a concierge, and turned
the corner into the Rue de Beauvais. Here fortune favored me, for
I found a little court which gave entrance to the interior of the
building. In one corner of this court was a hut of one room, with a
large window commanding the entrance. By the candle within I saw a
little old man sitting at a table, apparently asleep. I opened the door.

“Are you the concierge?” I asked, touching him with my foot.

He awoke with a start and sat blinking at me.

“I asked if you are the concierge,” I repeated.

“The concierge?” he stammered. “Yes, yes. What is it, monsieur?”

“You sometimes receive papers and letters, do you not?”

“Sometimes, monsieur.”

“And what do you do with them?”

“I give them to the person for whom they are intended, monsieur,” and
he smiled cunningly.

“All right,” I said. “I see you are my man. These must be delivered to
that person at once. Tell me the first letter of his name.”

“H, monsieur.”

“Good. Here are the papers,” and I gave him the packet and turned to
leave.

“But your name, monsieur?” he cried.

“He will know from whom they come,” I answered. “It is always safer
not to mention names,” and I hurried from the place, for I feared that
one of Hérault’s agents might arrive while I was there. I met no one,
however, and turning up the Rue du Chantre, soon reached the Palais
Royal.

The Théâtre-Français occupied a portion of the left wing, and the
entrance was crowded with gayly dressed people. Thanks to Jacques, who
had been before me, I had no difficulty in securing the place reserved
for Richelieu at the right of the stage, and I looked about me with no
little interest and some astonishment. The hall was not very large and
but indifferently lighted. Two rows of boxes extended in a semicircle
around it, encircling the pit, which was without seats. It was already
filled with a crush of people, who were compelled to stand on tiptoe
and look over each other’s shoulders to catch a glimpse of the stage.
The stage itself appeared to be a mere strip of planks in the midst of
this sea of people, for on either side of it were four rows of seats,
one above the other, enclosed in a gilt railing, and at the back thirty
or forty people were standing, through whom the actors must force their
way in order to reach the front. As was inevitable in such a multitude,
there was a perfect babel of conversation. Most of the boxes were still
empty, but from the pit came an uproar indescribable. The din was
increased by dealers in lemonade and sweetmeats, who pushed their way
through the crowd crying their wares.

The boxes filled gradually, most of them being occupied by elegantly
attired ladies, many of whom were masked. My attention was attracted by
a party of especially distinguished appearance which entered the box
across from mine. It consisted of three ladies, all wearing masks.

The ringing of a bell drew my eyes to the stage, and those who had come
only to see the assembling of the audience withdrew and received their
money back as they passed out. A boy snuffed the row of candles which
served as footlights, and the bell tapped a second time. Something like
stillness fell upon the house, and I saw two gentlemen attired in
the mode of Paris, with swords at their sides, precisely as had every
gentleman in the audience, break a way through the crowd at the back of
the stage and advance to the front. One, so the playbill told me, was
the Prince of Eubœa, and the other his friend Dimas, and the opening
couplet was ringing in the air,--

  “Philoctète, est-ce vous? Quel coup affreux du sort
  Dans ces lieux empestés vous fait chercer la mort?”

From that instant I forgot the audience and no longer saw the
anachronism which gave this Greek tragedy all the appointments of a
French contemporary drama. I heard only the majesty of the lines, as
the story moved on without interruption to the tragedy which was its
climax. Thunders of applause interrupted the actors at every moment.
The audience found in the first scene a reference to the king, then
only eight years old, and to the regent. These were clapped to the
echo, and the actors were recalled at the end of the scene.

The act once over, the hubbub of voices arose again, and I had leisure
to look about me. Unconsciously my eyes wandered to the box opposite,
and I started as I fancied I saw one of the masked ladies make a
motion to me with her fan. I told myself I must be mistaken, but
a moment later the signal was repeated. I arose from my chair and
looked questioningly at her, still incredulous of my good fortune.
She nodded her head and again beckoned with her fan. This time there
was no mistaking her meaning, and I hurried from my box and made my
way through the crowd as rapidly as possible to the other side of the
theatre. With fast-beating heart I tapped at the door of the box where
the three ladies sat.

“Enter, monsieur,” said a low voice, which I recognized at once as that
of Mlle. de Valois. “Ah, M. de Brancas,” she continued, holding out her
hand, “you are welcome. But I am ashamed of you, sir. Do you always
compel a lady to give you three invitations?”

“It was because I could not believe in my good fortune, mademoiselle,”
I cried. “Had I known who you were, I fear I should not have waited for
even one invitation.”

“I see my mask is no disguise, monsieur,” laughed the princess, “for
you seem to know me now. Pray tell me, do you know these other ladies?”

“I know Mlle. Dacour,” I answered, bowing to one of the other two, who
remained silent, apparently absorbed in watching the crowd in the pit.

“And how do you know that?” she asked.

“By the beating of my heart, mademoiselle,” I answered.

The princess laughed merrily.

“A pretty compliment, upon my word,” she cried. “Come, Louise, are you
not going to give M. de Brancas your hand to kiss as a reward?”

“M. de Brancas is too fond of kissing hands,” she retorted, without
looking at me. “Let him find others, as he has doubtless already done.”

Mlle. de Valois glanced at my lugubrious face and burst into another
peal of laughter.

“It is too amusing,” she cried. “But first, monsieur, let me introduce
you to this other lady, concerning whom your heart tells you
nothing,--my sister, Mlle. de Chartres.”

I bowed to the lady, who was apparently some years older than Mlle.
de Valois, and who smiled at me graciously. The princess was still
laughing.

“Oh, come, M. de Brancas,” she said, “put off that melancholy air.
You should rejoice rather than despair, for, do you know, Louise is
doing you the honor of being jealous of you. This afternoon we were
out driving, and in the Rue St. Honoré who should we see but M. de
Brancas wading across the street and with a young and pretty woman
held very affectionately in his arms. It made my blood leap and I was
for cheering you from the carriage window, but Louise held me back,
and in a moment you were gone. I thought it fine, but she said it was
disgraceful, and I nearly died with laughing at her indignant face.”

“Oh, this is too much!” cried Mlle. Dacour, starting from her seat. “I
will not remain here to be insulted in this manner.”

“Oh, do not go, mademoiselle!” I implored.

“Yes, stay, Louise,” said the princess. “I promise not to tease you
further. Besides,” she added, mischievously, “M. de Brancas doubtless
has an explanation to offer, and perhaps he was not holding her so
affectionately as I imagined.”

I would have told them at once that it had been a question of necessity
and not at all of affection, but at that moment the bell rang and the
second act began. I forgot my fair companions in the interest of the
tragedy. The laughing voice of Mlle. de Valois aroused me.

“Ah, M. de Brancas,” she said, “it is evident that you have never
before seen the ‘Œdipe.’ Here, sit beside me. If you are very good and
answer my questions nicely I shall let you sit beside Louise, and you
will have only yourself to blame if you do not make peace with her. She
is dying of curiosity to learn the lady’s name. Have you heard from
Richelieu?” she asked in a lower tone.

“I have heard only that he is on the road to Bayonne,” I answered.

“And you think he should remain there?”

“I believe it would be best for the present, mademoiselle.”

“Ah, but, M. de Brancas,” she said, “suppose you were Richelieu and I
Louise Dacour. Would you remain at Bayonne? Do not answer me, I see
in your face that you would not. Listen. Richelieu will be in Paris
to-morrow night.”

“To-morrow night,” I gasped.

“Yes. He will doubtless go first to his hotel, where you will meet him.
So soon as you see him give him this note,” and she handed me a little
perfumed missive. “The note, I may as well tell you, states that at ten
o’clock to-morrow night I shall be at the house of a friend in the Rue
Jean Tison, the third house from the corner of the Rue Bailleul, on the
right-hand side. Rap three times and the door will be opened to you
without question. Mount the stairs to the first floor. Louise will be
there also. Do you understand, monsieur?”

“Yes, yes,” I said, and placed the note in my pocket.

“You do not seem to consider any longer the danger to which Richelieu
will be exposed,” she said, slyly.

“Oh, if Louise is there,” I murmured.

“You are charming, M. de Brancas,” said the princess, and she gave me
an adorable smile. “Now take your reward. Sit by her side and whisper
a few sentences such as that into those little pink ears of hers. She
will soon be smiling.”

The end of the second act gave me the opportunity of changing my seat.

“Oh, mademoiselle,” I whispered, as I sat down beside her, “believe
me, there are only two hands in the whole world that I desire to
kiss,--those two which are lying in your lap.”

“Who was the lady you were with this afternoon?” she asked, not
deigning to glance at me, but gazing straight in front of her.

“Mlle. de Launay,” I answered.

“Mlle. de Launay?”

“Yes.”

“You know her, then?”

“Richelieu introduced us. Madame du Maine asked me to accompany her
this afternoon on an errand. On our way back to the Tuileries we found
the way blocked by the flooded street. She was in haste, and as there
was no other way, I carried her across. I did not enjoy the task, I
assure you, mademoiselle.”

She glanced at me, and I thought I saw signs of relenting in her eyes.

“Come, Louise,” cried the duchess, “we must go. It was not to see the
‘Œdipe’ that we came here. We have accomplished our mission and must
return.”

“Till to-morrow, then,” I whispered to Louise as the ladies arose, and
I fancied that she gave a slight affirmative nod of the head. I would
have accompanied them, but the princess waved me back, and I returned
to my box to witness the remainder of the play. It moved me strongly,
and I was still thinking over its stirring periods as I reached the
quays and crossed the river. As I turned down the Quai Malaquest I
fancied I heard footsteps behind me, but when I turned, saw no one.
The street was very dark, the candles, which swung here and there in
lanterns twenty feet above the roadway, having been extinguished by a
gust of rain earlier in the evening and no attempt having been made to
relight them.

I was stumbling on over the uneven pavement, when suddenly half a
dozen shadows detached themselves from the wall in front of me, and
at the same instant I heard hastening footsteps in my rear. Before I
could draw my sword, or even, in fact, appreciate my danger, a dozen
men threw themselves upon me. A gag was thrust into my mouth, a scarf
bound over my eyes, my hands and feet were tied, and in a moment I was
helpless. Some one was searching my pockets.

“Some more of the Cartouche gang,” I thought.

“Handle him as gently as possible,” I heard a voice say. “Now two of
you lift him and bring him along.”

I was lifted from the pavement and borne along for some distance. Then
I was placed in a carriage, which was driven rapidly through the
streets. It rumbled across a bridge, stopped, and I heard a sentry’s
challenge.

“The Bastille again,” I groaned to myself.

The carriage drove on and then came to a sudden stop. I was lifted out
and carried into a room, the door of which I heard closed after me.

“Untie him,” commanded a voice, and in a moment my hands and feet were
free, the gag was taken from my mouth and the scarf whisked from my
eyes. A man of middle age in the uniform of an officer of the guards
stood before me.

“It is the first time I have had the pleasure of meeting you, M. de
Brancas,” he said, smiling. “I trust we shall be good friends.”

“The beginning of our acquaintance does not seem to me a happy one,” I
answered. “But may I ask your name, monsieur?”

“I am called Hérault, lieutenant of police,” and he bowed.

“Hérault?” I exclaimed.

“At your service,” and he bowed again.

“And why have I been arrested, monsieur?” I asked.

“Ah, do not use so harsh a word!” he cried. “I assure you, monsieur,
you are not arrested, but merely detained. There is no charge against
you, and on my word you shall be free again day after to-morrow.”

“But in the mean time?”

“In the mean time, monsieur, you will be my guest, and I shall strive
to make your stay a pleasant one.”

I searched his face with my eyes, but it told me nothing. With a start
I remembered the rendezvous, and my hand sought my pocket. The note
Mlle. de Valois had given me was gone. In an instant I understood. The
regent was setting another trap for Richelieu.

Hérault read my face as he would have read an open book.

“I see you are beginning to understand, M. de Brancas,” he said, still
smiling. “It would be inconvenient to have you present at certain
scenes which are to occur say twenty-four hours from now. Consequently
you will be my guest for thirty-six hours.”

I was still dazed at the discovery of this trap, and my mind was
stumbling blindly along its intricacies.

“How did you learn of the existence of this note, monsieur?” I asked at
length, finding here a problem which I could not solve.

“Ah, M. de Brancas,” cried Hérault, “it was there that you displayed
an indiscretion which surprised me. Did you for a moment suppose that
a masked lady, whose identity, however, was well known, could give
you a note in a crowded house where there were twenty of my agents
without this being perceived? Did you believe that you could talk of a
rendezvous in a theatre box and not be overheard, provided the police
wished to overhear you? You will answer, of course, that you talked in
a low voice, but permit me to tell you something, monsieur, which may
be of value to you in the future. In a theatre, a hall, or any place
where there is a great crowd of people and consequently much noise, a
single human voice seems to its possessor the most feeble instrument in
the world. And yet, no matter how great the confusion, trained ears,
such as my agents possess, can pick out that voice and follow it as
though it were speaking alone in the stillness of the grave.”

I understood but too clearly, and cursed my own folly and that of Mlle.
de Valois.

“As I said before,” continued Hérault, “you are my guest. You are at my
house in the Rue de Perpignan. But do not think of escape, monsieur.
Twenty men guard every door and avenue of escape. I shall be obliged
to station six in your apartment. They will be fully armed, and as you
have not even your sword,”--I placed my hand at my side and found that
my sword was indeed gone,--“you can easily realize how foolhardy it
would be to attack them. They have instructions to kill you rather than
permit you to escape, and I should be truly sorry to have the incident
end so unhappily.”

He paused for a moment as though to allow his words to take effect, and
then motioned me to follow him. We mounted two steep and narrow flights
of stairs, passing several sentries on the way, and stopped before
a door on the third floor. This Hérault opened, and we entered. Six
soldiers, all armed with swords and muskets, were pacing up and down
inside. An open door disclosed another and smaller room, in which there
was a bed.

“I trust you will be comfortable here, monsieur,” said Hérault. “After
all, it will be only for a short time. Is there anything you desire?”

“Nothing, monsieur,” I answered.

“Good-night, then,” and casting another glance around the apartment
to assure himself that all was right, he withdrew. I heard him giving
some orders outside the door, a bolt was thrown, and all was still.
The six guards in my apartment continued marching up and down without
saying a word. I realized that nothing could be done that night, and
appreciating the value of sleep in clearing the brain and steadying the
nerves, I undressed and went to bed. As I entered the smaller room two
of the guards took their station at its open door, where they could
observe my every movement, and I smiled to myself at the thought that
Hérault must indeed consider me formidable.




CHAPTER XIV

THE GAME OF PRISONER’S CHASE


I am fond of lying in bed in the morning and thinking over the
situation in which I find myself, as the reader doubtless knows already
if he has had the patience to come thus far with me, and when I awoke
in the house of M. Hérault I was in no hurry to arise. I was able to
see quite clearly all the workings of this trap which had been set for
Richelieu. He would arrive at Paris in the evening and would proceed to
his hotel. There he would find the note from Mlle. de Valois awaiting
him. Hérault could easily find a way to deliver it without exciting
suspicion. Richelieu might wonder at my absence, but I knew him well
enough to know that suspicion or even certainty of foul play would not
for a moment deter him from keeping the appointment which she had given
him. He would, then, at ten o’clock, proceed to the house in the Rue
Jean Tison, the third from the end, on the right-hand side. He would
rap three times and would be admitted, and a moment later Hérault’s
men would break open the door, overwhelm him, and carry him off to the
Bastille. This time there would be no escape, and I shuddered as I
thought what the end would be.

I bounded out of bed. The clothes were suffocating me. It was time for
action.

Two guards stood at my door watching me closely. Four others were in
the outer room.

“Good-morning, gentlemen,” I said, reflecting that I could lose nothing
by being on good terms with these men. “You must have had a weary time
of it watching all night.”

“We went on duty only an hour ago, monsieur,” said one of them, who
seemed to be in command. “The watches were changed while you slept.”

“And how long will you be on duty?” I asked, carelessly.

“Twelve hours, or until ten o’clock to-night, monsieur,” he answered.

“Ah, you have long hours.”

“We have always long hours in the police, monsieur.”

At that moment the outer door was opened, and a servant appeared
bringing my breakfast.

“Excellent!” I cried, entering the outer room and looking at the
repast, which was indeed elaborate. “I see I shall have no cause to
complain of M. Hérault’s hospitality. Have you breakfasted, lieutenant?”

“Two hours ago, monsieur.”

“Two hours ago! Great heavens, man, your stomach must be an aching
emptiness by this time! Sit down, I beg of you. There is enough here
for two and some to spare for your men.”

I saw that the man was indeed hungry and looked at my breakfast with
eager eyes, but he shook his head at my invitation.

“Ah, come, monsieur,” I said, “why should we refuse to be civil to
each other just because I am prisoner and you are guard? It seems to
me that a little good feeling will make the day pass more quickly for
both of us. Even if you cannot eat, bear me company, I beg of you, for
I abhor sitting down alone to table,” and I gently forced him into a
chair and myself took the one opposite. He yielded, though still with
a show of reluctance, and I maintained a lively conversation while we
ate, carefully avoiding any remark which could appear suspicious, and
finally succeeded in drawing the man out a little. I ordered another
bottle of wine, and treated the five soldiers to a glass apiece, a
courtesy which I saw they appreciated. Breakfast was finally finished
and we arose.

“What a charming view!” I cried, sauntering to the window and gazing
down over the river. “M. Hérault’s house overlooks the Seine it
appears.”

“It stands upon the bank, monsieur,” answered the lieutenant, who had
followed me.

“Come, monsieur,” I said, turning to him and seemingly taking no
further interest in the view, “I have not yet asked your name.”

“Lieutenant Bernin, monsieur.”

“Well, Lieutenant Bernin,” I cried, “I foresee that we are going to
pass a very pleasant day together,” and I turned again to an apparently
careless scrutiny of the scene. I could catch but a glimpse of the
river below the window, from which I judged that the house not only
stood upon the bank, but that the upper stories projected out over the
water, after the fashion of many of the older houses standing along
the Seine. In a moment I saw a possible way of escape. A drop of forty
feet to a stone pavement was not to be thought of; but a drop of forty
feet into the water was another matter. I turned away from the window,
trembling lest by some motion I might betray my thought. I examined
the window itself attentively when I could do so unobserved, and saw
that it was of the ordinary kind, with a sash which could be readily
broken by a blow with a chair or any other heavy object. The problem
was to keep my guards at a distance during the moment it would take me
to break a passage and drop into the water. It was a problem not easy
of solution, and I retired to the bedroom and lay down upon the bed to
think it over.

The bedroom was about ten feet square, without windows and with only
one door, that opening into the outer room. This door was of some
strength, and had a bolt on the outer side, so that by merely closing
it and throwing the bolt they could make me a prisoner in this small
room. If it were only the soldiers who were in the bedroom and I who
were outside, an instant would suffice to bolt the door, and it would
be several minutes at least before they could break it down,--more time
certainly than I should need to get through the window. In a moment I
had my plan, and I spent some half-hour working out all its details.

The remainder of the morning passed quickly, and when my dinner
appeared Hérault accompanied it.

“I have been taxing myself with being inhospitable, M. de Brancas,” he
said, “but I beg of you to believe that it was the most urgent business
which prevented my coming to see you earlier. A lieutenant of police
never gets time to rest or to see his friends.”

“I can well believe it,” I answered. “You are going to dine with me,
are you not, monsieur?”

“If it pleases you to have a companion.”

“Nothing could please me more,” I said, heartily, for I really admired
the man; and as we sat down I examined his face with interest. It was a
face which, even animated as at this moment, was still as impenetrable
as a wall of stone. The firmly set lips and aggressive chin showed a
man not wanting in decision, and I did not doubt that those cool, gray
eyes could become two poniards when it was a question of obtaining a
confession from a prisoner.

“I need not tell you, monsieur,” I said, after a moment, “how deeply
your system of police espionage interests me. I have already had two
or three proofs of the thoroughness of its work, and it seems to me a
wonderful organization. Do you object to telling me more about it?”

“Not at all,” he answered, smiling. “There is nothing secret about the
general principles of our system. What is it you would like to know,
monsieur?”

“Tell me how it is organized,--how it proceeds,” I answered.

“It was the Comte d’Argenson who brought it to its present state
of perfection,” began Hérault. “He was, as you perhaps know, my
predecessor, and held the position for nineteen years. It was for Louis
the Great that the thorough organization of the secret department was
undertaken. He had, as you have doubtless heard, a great liking for
scandal, and for many years the chief duty of the department was to
discover intrigues and liaisons. He devoted an hour every morning to
listening to the report of the police department, and nothing pleased
him so greatly as the details of some love-affair. These, it need
hardly be said, he would repeat later in the day to his court, to the
great confusion of the parties concerned. Under d’Argenson the secret
agents were trained to a remarkable degree of perfection, and I found
my work ready for my hand when I entered the office.”

“You have, then, a great number of agents?” I asked.

“They are everywhere, monsieur,” answered Hérault, with a smile. “They
constitute the eye which sees everything and the ear which hears
everything happening in Paris. You will say, no doubt, that intrigues
are not always exposed, that crimes are not always punished. Believe
me, monsieur, it is not because they are not known. Reasons of state
sometimes step in to protect the guilty ones; at other times the regent
prefers to wait, playing with them as a cat plays with a mouse, only in
the end to crush them more completely.”

I glanced at Hérault to discover what meaning might lie hidden behind
these words, but his face told me nothing. He turned the conversation
upon indifferent topics, indicating that he had said all he cared to
say about the police department, and a few moments later he arose to go.

“The time of your release is drawing near, monsieur,” he said. “A
little patience, and when the morning comes you will be free again. Is
there anything you wish?”

“May I have a pack of cards and a piece of chalk?” I asked. “There is
no objection, I suppose, to M. Bernin here playing with me?”

“None whatever,” answered Hérault. “The cards shall be sent you,
monsieur,” and he was gone.

The cards soon came, and the afternoon passed quickly. Bernin was
very fond of play and, as I permitted him to win the few pistoles I
possessed, he arose from the table in great good humor. Supper came
with the candles. Bernin joined me, at my invitation, no longer making
a pretence of holding back, and his five companions each received
another glass of wine.

“You desire your revenge, doubtless, monsieur,” said Bernin, as we
finished, and I saw that he was trembling with eagerness to resume the
cards.

“Yes, let us play,” I answered, and we continued the game. My apparent
resignation to my fate had completely disarmed the suspicions of the
men, and they were grouped about the table watching the fall of the
cards. An hour passed, and nine o’clock sounded from Notre Dame. It was
time to act.

“Come, M. Bernin,” I said, yawning and throwing down the cards, “this
is growing wearisome. I know a better game than this. Let me explain
it to you.” I picked up the piece of chalk and glanced around at the
walls. “My bedroom is the best place,” I said. “Come with me,” and I
caught up one of the candles and led the way. Bernin followed me.

“The game,” I said, “is called ‘Prisoner’s Chase,’ and may be played
in a number of ways. The one which I am about to show you is, however,
the best.” I held the candle in one hand and drew a diagram on the wall
with the other. “You will observe,” I continued, “the board is in the
form of a cross, and at the upper end of the cross is the stronghold,
or fortress. Within this fortress is the prisoner. Without it are six
guards,” and I rapidly indicated their positions.

“Yes, yes,” said Bernin. “I find the game interesting.”

“You will find it more so before it is ended,” I said. “The guards are
limited to moving in straight lines and only one base at a time. The
prisoner, on the contrary, like the queen in chess, can move the whole
length of the board if necessary. The problem is for the prisoner to
compel the six guards to enter the castle, in order to avoid capture,
while he himself escapes. If he cannot do this he loses.”

“I understand,” said Bernin. “The prisoner has need to use his brain. A
charming game.”

I glanced over my shoulder and saw that two of the other guards had
entered the room and were watching my diagram with interest.

“Let us now play the game,” I said. “The guards are drawn up in a line
across one end of the board. The prisoner is within the castle. If
they can advance in an unbroken line to the castle wall they cut off
all possibility of escape and the prisoner loses. They advance to the
attack. Ah, but see, they have left a break in the line. The prisoner
sees it. He has been waiting this opportunity. He swoops out. This man
must either retreat or be taken. He retreats. He is within the castle.
Once in he cannot get out. The prisoner has now only five men against
him.”

Another of the guards had entered the room and was watching the game.

“Again the guards advance,” I continued. “Again they leave a space,
since they cannot all move together. A moment and the prisoner has a
second captive,” and I illustrated the word with the action.

“Really,” declared Bernin, “I have never seen a more exciting game.”

“The excitement is yet to come, monsieur,” I cried, and a glance told
me that the two remaining guards were in the room. “You see there are
now only four guards at liberty, although those within the castle are
permitted to harass the prisoner as much as is in their power. But
those outside have grown wary. They advance more cautiously. They may
still be able to surround and overpower the prisoner. Ah, an opening!
The prisoner sees it. He is out in an instant. He has another captive.”
The six men were grouped about me and I could feel their breath in my
hair.

“Yes, yes,” cried Bernin, “I see. It is most interesting.”

“The most interesting part is yet to come, monsieur,” I repeated.
“Remember, the prisoner, to win the game, must not only get all the
guards within the castle, but must so dispose them that he can himself
escape.”

“True,” and Bernin nodded, “but how will he do it, monsieur?”

“I will show you in a second,” I said, and at that instant, apparently
by accident, let the candle fall. “One moment, gentlemen,” I cried. “I
will bring another candle, and will show you the conclusion of this
interesting game.”

I sprang into the outer room as though to get another candle. In an
instant I slammed the door and shot the bolt. They comprehended my
purpose and were hammering at the door almost before I could turn,
but in the same moment I had seized a chair and with a single blow
dashed out the window. I heard the door cracking, and the guard on the
staircase without, hearing the noise, were throwing the bolts of the
outer door to enter. Even as the one door opened and the other gave way
I was through the window, hung a second from the sill, and let myself
drop. I shot downward with the speed of a cannon-ball, as it seemed to
me, struck the water feet first with a mighty splash, and disappeared
beneath it.

I battled madly to regain the surface, and came up like a cork. The
darkness concealed me, but from the lighted window I had just left half
a dozen excited faces were peering. I heard hoarse shouts of alarm,
and some one discharged a musket in my direction, the ball ripping up
the water near my head. Without delaying a moment I swam as rapidly as
I could towards the opposite quay, and as I gained it I heard renewed
shouts behind me, and saw a dozen men, holding aloft flaming torches,
tumbling into a boat. Luckily, in that moment I found a landing-place,
ran up it quickly to the quay above, and in an instant had mingled with
the crowd.




CHAPTER XV

RICHELIEU STANDS HIS GROUND


I knew that I had no time to lose, and I hurried along the quay as
rapidly as the crowd would permit, hoping to arrive at the Hotel de
Richelieu before the duke left the house. The half-hour was striking as
I reached my destination, entered the court, and knocked at the door.
It was Jacques who opened.

“Is Richelieu here?” I asked, springing across the threshold and
motioning him to bar the door after me, for at every moment I was
expecting to feel upon my shoulder the hand of one of Hérault’s agents.

“M. le Duc left the house not ten minutes since,” answered Jacques.

“And where did he go?”

“I do not know, monsieur.”

“Was there a note left here for him to-day?”

“Yes, monsieur. A small perfumed note.”

“And you gave it to Richelieu?”

“Not half an hour ago.”

“Who delivered the note?”

“A man in the livery of the regent’s household, monsieur.”

I groaned aloud. It was then as I had expected. The livery of the
regent’s household was of course at the service of Hérault. I was for a
moment stunned.

“M. le Duc was greatly chagrined at not finding you here, monsieur,”
continued Jacques. “I told him that you had attended the theatre last
night and had not returned. But monsieur is dripping wet,” he cried in
astonishment, as I advanced into the circle of light cast by the hall
lamp.

“Yes,” I said, looking somewhat ruefully at the ruin of my best suit,
“I have just come out of the Seine, and it is not pleasant running
through the streets in wet garments on a December night. I must have a
change of clothes at once. If we are prompt I may yet save Richelieu.”

“He is in danger, then, monsieur?”

“In the greatest danger,” I answered. “Come.”

We ran up the stairs, and with that promptness which I had already so
greatly admired, Jacques produced a suit of clothing. In five minutes
I was ready for the street, and snatching up a sword, descended the
staircase three steps at a time. As I passed through the hall I glanced
at the clock and saw that I had yet twenty minutes in which to reach
the Rue Jean Tison. The rendezvous was for ten o’clock.

I crossed the Pont Royal, and turning down the Quai des Galleries du
Louvre, as likely to be least crowded, passed the Port St. Nicholas
at a run, and came to the Rue des Poulies. This led me to the Rue
Bailleul, which I remembered only too well, and in a moment I was at
the Rue Jean Tison. The end of the street was blocked by a house,
through which a large gate-way was pierced, and I passed through this
and rapped at the door of the third house on the right. As I did so I
heard ten o’clock striking from St. Honoré. Some one fumbled at the
bolts within, and the door opened. A noise at the end of the street
caught my ear and I paused an instant on the threshold. As I looked
back, I saw approaching from either direction a company of mounted
guards, their arms clanking and the hoofs of their horses awakening a
thousand echoes.

“Bar the door quickly!” I said to the old woman who stood within
holding a candle. “Where are Richelieu and the ladies?”

“On the floor above, monsieur.”

Without waiting for another word, I sprang up the stairs and flung open
the first door I came to. By the dim light I saw Richelieu holding
Mlle. de Valois in his arms. She uttered a startled exclamation as I
entered, and drew away from him.

“M. le Duc,” I cried, “we have not a moment to lose! There are forty
guards at the door. We must go, and quickly.”

“Upon my soul it is de Brancas!” exclaimed Richelieu. “And where have
you been all day, my friend?”

“Do not stop for questioning, I beg of you,” I panted. “Is there any
other way out of this house?”

“I do not know. I will see,” and the princess ran to the door, where
we heard her rapidly interrogating the old woman. At that moment a
thunderous knock sounded on the door below and echoed through the house.

“Oh, monsieur, what is happening?” cried a voice which made me start.
“Is this another trap?”

“It looks very much like it, Mlle. Dacour,” replied Richelieu,
gloomily, and turned towards the door with frowning face.

There was a second knock louder than the first, which shook the house
and made the windows rattle.

“Open or we will force an entrance!” cried a voice outside.

There was an instant’s silence, and the princess came back to us, her
face white with fear.

“There is no way of getting out except by the door below,” she faltered.

“But there must be!” I cried. “The roof,--can we not escape by the
roof? Come, M. le Duc, I implore you,” for, seemingly oblivious to the
sounds below, he had gone to his mistress and was whispering in her ear.

In a moment he turned to me.

“De Brancas,” he said, “I am weary of this perpetual game of
hide-and-seek. I am tired of forever running away. I swore last time
that I should never do it again. Go, my friend. As for me, I intend to
stay.”

I looked at him aghast. He was smiling calmly and was holding out his
hand to me.

“But to stay means to be captured,” I stammered, not yet understanding
him. “We cannot defeat a regiment, monsieur.”

“That may be,” and the duke still smiled.

“And the Bastille.”

“Very likely.”

“And----” but here I paused.

“Go on, my friend,” said Richelieu, calmly, “I read your thought. You
would say that after the Bastille the Place de Greve and the block.
Is it not so? But heads do not fall so easily, de Brancas. The regent
would think twice before sending me to the axe.”

Blows were raining upon the door, and I knew that it must soon give
way. I looked at Richelieu again, but he had returned to the princess.

“Very well,” I muttered, “we must stay in this devil of a hole, then,
it seems,” and I folded my arms and walked moodily towards the door.

But I paused as I felt a light touch upon my elbow.

“Oh, M. de Brancas,” murmured Louise, “when M. le Duc told us that he
had not seen you, that you had not returned to his hotel after the
theatre last night, but that the note had been delivered, I suspected
a trap. I implored him to go, but he would not listen.”

“I can well believe it,” I groaned. “He is capable of any madness.”

I heard the door below splitting. In another moment the soldiers would
be upon us.

“And conceive our anxiety for you, monsieur,” continued Louise, in a
lower tone.

“For me?” I cried. “And you have then forgiven me, Louise?”

“Oh, Jean!” and my arms were around her, “did you think these tears
were for Richelieu?”

With a crash the door gave way, and I heard the tramp of heavy feet
upon the stairs.

“Come, my friend,” said Richelieu, and together we left the room, the
door of which he closed after us.

The guards were already half-way up the stairs, but paused at the sight
of us standing there in the shadow above them.

“Good-evening, gentlemen,” said Richelieu. “May I ask your errand in
this house?”

“’Tis Richelieu!” cried a voice, which I recognized as that of Hérault.
“Wait a moment, men.”

He pushed his way to the front of the crowd.

“Our errand here concerns only yourself, M. le Duc,” he said. “We are
charged to arrest you.”

“And of what am I accused?” asked Richelieu.

“You were ordered to join your regiment at Bayonne, monsieur,” answered
Hérault, “and you are now in Paris. That is your offence.”

“’Tis not a great one.”

“But we must arrest you nevertheless, monsieur. Do you surrender, or
shall we be compelled to take you by force?”

“Monsieur,” cried Richelieu, “you have just said that your mission here
concerns only myself. If I accompany you without resistance have I your
word that no one else in this house will be molested?”

“You have my word, monsieur,” answered Hérault, who had not perceived
me in the dim light of the hall and thought only that Richelieu was
trying to protect the princess.

“Oh, do not do this; we may yet escape!” I implored, but the duke
silenced me with a smile.

“On those conditions I surrender,” he said. “I will come down to you,
M. Hérault,” and he started to descend, but paused as he perceived a
sudden commotion at the door.

“A messenger for M. Hérault!” cried some one.

“What is it?” asked Hérault.

A man forced his way up the staircase and to Hérault’s side.

“Bernin,” cried the latter, “what are you doing here?”

“I have to report, monsieur,” he said, humbly, “that my prisoner has
escaped.”

“Escaped!” exclaimed Hérault. “Impossible! How could one unarmed man
defeat six guards and wade through twenty more?”

“This was not a man, it was a devil,” declared Bernin. “He locked us in
his bedroom like so many pigs, having first decoyed us there to show
us how to play a wonderful game. He broke open the window and dropped
forty feet into the Seine. We had the door down in a moment, but he was
gone.”

“And where did he go?” cried Hérault. “Tell me that, Bernin?”

“Alas, I do not know, monsieur.”

“I think I can relieve your anxiety on that score, M. Hérault,” I said,
descending to a lower step. “I wish you a very good-evening, monsieur,”
and I bowed politely.

He stared at me with open mouth, as though unable to believe his eyes.
Some one brought a torch, which cast a red glow over the hallway and
threw into relief the faces of the soldiers looking up at us. But he
was a man accustomed to astonishments, and he soon pulled himself
together.

“You will pardon my surprise, M. de Brancas,” he said, at last. “You
seem to be possessed of an amazing agility. May I ask how you entered
here?”

“By the door,” I answered, still smiling, and rejoicing that it was my
turn, “an instant before your men appeared at the end of the street,
monsieur.”

He gazed at me for a moment longer as I smiled down into his eyes.

“Come, M. de Brancas,” he said, at last, mounting to the step where I
stood, “give me your hand. By my soul, you are a brave man and I admire
you. You must some day show me this game with which you beguiled my
soldiers.”

“With pleasure,” I laughed. “It is an excellent game.”

“And what is it called?” he asked. “Perhaps I already know it.”

“I do not think so, monsieur. It is called ‘Prisoner’s Chase’. If
properly played, in the end the prisoner escapes.”

“Well, you are free, M. de Brancas,” said Hérault, still looking at me.
“My orders were to detain you only until Richelieu was safely arrested.
As he has agreed to accompany us, we need not trouble you further. I
see now,” he added, “why he was so anxious to have no one else here
molested.”

“Must it be, monsieur?” I cried, turning to Richelieu. “Is this the
only way?”

“This is the only way,” he answered; and then, turning to Hérault,
“Monsieur, will you permit me to say a word in private to my friend?”

“There will be no attempt to escape?” asked Hérault, hesitating.

“You have my word, monsieur,” said Richelieu, proudly.

“True,” and Hérault thought for a moment. “M. le Duc, I will withdraw
with my men to the stairfoot. In three minutes you will descend alone
and without your sword. Is it agreed?”

“It is agreed,” said Richelieu, and Hérault and his men went down the
stairs.

“All this amounts to nothing, de Brancas,” said Richelieu, in a low
tone. “This regency will not last a week, and so the worst that can
happen to me will be a week in prison. What I fear is that Charlotte,
over-estimating my danger, will be moved to make some ridiculous
sacrifice for me. Of course, you cannot tell her of the conspiracy, but
make her believe, if possible, that I am in no danger.”

“I shall try, monsieur,” I faltered.

“And tell Madame du Maine,” he continued, rapidly, “that everything is
prepared at Bayonne and that my absence will make no difference. My men
know my wishes, the town council is ready, and the city will declare
against Orleans.”

“Yes, yes, I will tell her.”

“And now, good-by, my friend,” and Richelieu took my hand. “You have
already performed miracles of valor in my behalf, and that I am a
prisoner now is my own fault and not yours. I shall never forget it.”

He drew his sword, threw it far from him, and passed down the stairs
under the red glow of the torches to the captors who awaited him, his
head proudly erect, his lips smiling. The lights threw flaring shadows
in every corner, but their bearers stood in perfect silence, with
upturned faces, admiring, breathless. Could I have known what was to
follow ere I should see that courtly form again, even then, I swear it,
I would have rushed down sword in hand and cut our way to freedom. But
it was not to be.

I stood there motionless till the tramp of horses died away in the
distance. Then I opened the door and entered.

“We have heard all,” said Louise. “Richelieu is arrested.”

“And I am here,” I added, gloomily.

“Believe me, we do not blame you in the least, M. de Brancas,” and
Mlle. de Valois smiled through her tears. “You did more than any other
man could have done, monsieur.”

“In any event, there is nothing more for us to do here,” I said.
“Let us go. But first, let me tell you, mademoiselle, that Richelieu
entreats you not to over-estimate his danger, and not to worry on his
account, since he believes he will be free in a week’s time.”

“He is trying to deceive me, monsieur,” and she looked at me
questioningly. “You yourself know how little ground there is for such
a hope.”

“There is something which I cannot tell you, mademoiselle,” I
answered, “but which will undoubtedly secure his release if it results
fortunately. That is true, believe me,” and without daring to say more,
I opened the door and led the way down the staircase.

We were soon in the street, and I accompanied them to the little door
opening on the Rue de Richelieu through which the duke had evaded the
regent’s first trap. They bade me adieu, and Louise gave my hand a
little pressure as she left me, but not even that could lift me from
the gloom into which I had fallen. I returned slowly to the Rue des
Saints Pères. Jacques was awaiting me, and paled visibly at sight of my
downcast face.

“What has happened, monsieur?” he asked in a frightened whisper.

“Richelieu has been arrested. He is again in the Bastille,” I answered.

“But you will get him out, will you not, monsieur?” and the anxious
fellow looked at me piteously.

“I will try, rest assured of that,” I said, and I smiled, with tears
in my eyes, at his faith in me.

Sleep was long in coming to my eyes that night. If the conspiracy
succeeded, Richelieu was saved. But if it failed, what then? I
shuddered at the thought, for I remembered the regent’s last words
to me and the look which had accompanied them. At last I fell into a
troubled sleep, in which I saw again that graceful figure descending
the staircase under the red glare of the torches. And then the scene
changed. There was the same sea of eager, admiring faces watching in
breathless silence, but the figure they watched was going up instead of
down, and on the platform to which it was mounting there stood a block
and a masked man with an axe. And the red glow over it all was blood.




CHAPTER XVI

A DAY OF FRUITLESS EFFORT


I arose in the morning weary and unrefreshed. My forebodings had
increased rather than diminished, and I determined to lose no time
in doing all I could in Richelieu’s behalf. Jacques’s gloomy face
reflected my own, and I ate my breakfast in silence, for I had not the
heart to tell him how little hope I really had and how helpless I felt.

I left the house and went first to the Tuileries. Although the hour was
still early Madame du Maine was already at work, as I had no doubt she
would be, and I was shown into her presence. As usual, Mlle. de Launay
was with her.

“Have you heard of the arrest of M. de Richelieu, madame?” I inquired,
as soon as we had exchanged greetings.

“Is the duke, then, arrested again, and for what?” she asked, quickly
and with visible uneasiness.

“For nothing connected with your plan, madame, but merely for being in
Paris against the orders of the regent.”

I saw that she breathed again.

“And when was he in Paris?” she asked. “I thought him at Bayonne.”

“He was in Paris last night, madame.”

“And what was he doing in Paris?” she questioned, sharply.

“He came upon some private business, madame. He was surprised by a
company of guards and taken to the Bastille.”

“Some love-affair, I do not doubt,” she said, bitterly. “Richelieu
should learn to allow his private affairs to wait when they interfere
with matters of greater moment, as he must have known they would do in
this case.”

I glanced at the duchess in surprise, for this was the first indication
of selfishness I had detected in her.

“He expressly charged me to tell you, madame,” I said, a little
stiffly, “that his arrest would make no difference to your plans so far
as Bayonne is concerned. The regiment and the town council are ready
and understand perfectly what is expected of them.”

“Then all is well,” cried the duchess.

“Pardon me, madame,” I objected, “but all is not well. M. de Richelieu
is in the Bastille.”

“Well, he will not remain there long. In a week we shall have control
of Paris, and the doors will be opened for him.”

“But if the conspiracy fails, madame?”

“In that case, monsieur,” said the duchess, haughtily, “we shall none
of us be in better case than is M. de Richelieu at this moment. But who
talks of failure? We shall not fail. We cannot fail,” and I thought as
I looked at her that with a few more leaders such as she failure would
indeed be impossible. But one woman against all France was heavy odds.

“Believe me, M. de Brancas,” she continued, in a gentler tone, “I can
at this time do nothing for our friend. I have no influence with the
regent, and a word from me would do Richelieu more harm than good.”

I recognized the justness of her words, and said as much.

“Anything I can do shall be done, rest assured of that,” she added. “By
the way, monsieur, I shall look for you at my salon to-night. We have
need that all our friends should gather to us.”

I promised to be there, and withdrew with a heavy heart. I paused to
consider what next to do. If I were to go to the Bastille, I reflected,
I might have opportunity to see the prisoner and exchange a word of
comfort with him. Anything was better than doing nothing, so I set
off towards the dismal old prison. I reached it in the course of half
an hour and asked the sentry at the outer gate if I might see M. de
Maison-Rouge.

“What name, monsieur?” he inquired.

I gave him my name, and he summoned a messenger, who returned in a few
moments saying I was to enter. The gate opened and I was again in the
outer court-yard.

“I know the way,” I said to the messenger, who started to accompany me.

“Nevertheless I must go with you, monsieur,” he replied. “It is the
rule.”

I made no further objection, and he led me to the presence of the
governor.

“Ah, M. de Brancas,” and he smiled as I entered, “you are early, but I
was expecting you.”

“Doubtless,” I answered, dryly. “But tell me, may I see Richelieu?”

“I regret to say that you may not, monsieur. The regent has sent me a
special order to allow the duke to see no one and to hold communication
with no one.”

A chill ran through me at this new evidence of the regent’s purpose.

“And what inference do you draw from this order, monsieur?” I inquired,
after a moment’s gloomy thought.

Maison-Rouge shrugged his shoulders.

“It is not for me to draw inferences,” he said. “I obey orders without
questioning.”

“And how does he take his imprisonment?”

“He seems to be in good spirits,” and Maison-Rouge smiled. “In fact, I
have never seen him otherwise, and he was here for over a year when he
was younger. I use him as kindly as the regulations permit. He has his
old room, which he seems to prefer, and I have allowed him to send to
his hotel for some additional clothing and furniture. I can do nothing
more, monsieur, even were I so inclined. There are many in the Bastille
who are not so fortunate.”

There was nothing more to be said, and I left the place, the messenger,
who was waiting outside the door, accompanying me to the gate. As I
passed through it, I reflected that I might perhaps be able to catch
a glimpse of Richelieu at his cell window, and I turned to the right
along the lofty outer wall and the deep ditch which rendered approach
to it more difficult. The great prison had an indescribably threatening
and gloomy air even under the rays of the noonday sun, and my heart
trembled within me at the thought of the scores of helpless men behind
those massive walls; of the miserable wretches lying in the oubliettes,
thrown there, perhaps, by a royal caprice which had forgotten the
prisoner before it had forgotten its wrath, and for whom death was the
only release. Truly, there are worse things than death, and it were
better for Richelieu to lose his head than to go mad in one of those
reeking torture chambers.

A narrow path ran along the top of the embankment, and I followed
this until I reached the end of the outer wall. Within was the dreary
Tower du Puits in which we had been confined, and my eyes sought out
the window of Richelieu’s cell and of my own just above it. At this
distance they seemed mere port-holes in the great wall, and owing to
the darkness within, I found that I could not see the prisoner, even if
he were standing at his window. But he might be able to recognize me,
and I took my handkerchief from my pocket and waved it in the air. In
a moment I was rejoiced to see an answering gleam of white between the
bars of the window, and I knew that he had seen me. I waved again and
yet again, and as I did so heard hurrying feet behind me, and a hand
was laid roughly on my shoulder.

“You will accompany us, monsieur,” said a voice.

I turned sharply and saw three men in the uniform of the Bastille
guards. Each carried a musket.

“What is it now?” I asked in amazement.

“Monsieur knows or should know,” answered the man, “that all signalling
to the prisoners is prohibited under pain of imprisonment. Put up your
handkerchief and follow me, monsieur.”

I followed without a word, but inwardly cursing my ill fortune, and for
the second time that morning the outer gate opened to admit me, this
time without question. I was led straight to the governor’s office, a
sentry on either side. Maison-Rouge looked at me with astonishment as I
entered, and heard with evident impatience the statement of the guard
who had arrested me.

“That will do,” he said, as he concluded his story, and as the door
closed behind them he turned to me. “M. de Brancas, I need not tell you
that your offence is a serious one, and that many persons have been
imprisoned for much less.”

“I had desired only to let Richelieu know that his friends had not
forgot him,” I protested.

“The regent has ordered that no communication be held with him,”
said Maison-Rouge, sternly, “and I tell you plainly, monsieur, that
at another attempt of this kind he will be placed in a cell where he
will not only not see his friends, but where he will also never see
the light of day. I intend taking no chance of offending the regent a
second time.”

“Very well, monsieur,” I said, reflecting that anything was better
than that Richelieu should be plunged into an oubliette; “as for me,
I promise to hold no further communication with him until the regent
permits it. Am I, also, a prisoner?”

“No, M. de Brancas,” he answered, not unkindly, “I do not intend to
imprison you. I wish merely to warn you. You may go.”

The messenger was waiting, and I left the Bastille for the second
time, to the obvious astonishment of the sentries at the outer gate.
As it clanged shut behind me I decided that there was only one thing
more I could do, to see the regent and endeavor to mitigate his anger
against Richelieu. I had deferred this to the last, for I had little
hope of success, and indeed thought it not unlikely that I should
leave his presence escorted by a squad of soldiers; but everything
else had failed me, and I turned towards the Palais Royal. Two o’clock
was striking as I reached the Rue St. Honoré, which was crowded with
the usual throng of carriages and pedestrians. I pushed my way through
these, meeting no one whom I knew, and soon reached the palace.

I was shown into a large antechamber where a score of people were
awaiting an audience, and among them I perceived Hérault. He was
walking up and down with a gentleman whom I did not know, but who wore
the uniform of a captain of the guards. In a moment Hérault perceived
me, and came towards me, holding out his hand.

“Good-day, M. de Brancas,” he cried. “I am glad to see you. I trust you
suffered no ill effects from your bath of yesterday evening?”

“None whatever, monsieur,” I answered, smiling, for I liked the hearty
good humor of the man, and perceived that my liking was returned.

“M. de Brancas,” he continued, “allow me to present my friend the
Marquis d’Ancenis, captain of the guards. I was just relating to him
the details of your leap into the Seine.”

“In faith, ’twas worth relating,” declared d’Ancenis, warmly. “I know
no other man who could have done it so neatly, monsieur.”

I bowed my thanks.

“It was really nothing,” I protested, “and after all accomplished
nothing, since the friend whom I wished to rescue is at this moment in
the Bastille.”

“Ah, well, one cannot accomplish miracles, monsieur,” said d’Ancenis,
and I looked with pleasure at his smiling face, which reminded me
of Richelieu. “Do you know, you have become famous during your
brief residence in Paris. Only last night I heard a handsome woman
discoursing on your many feats.”

My heart leaped within me.

“And may I ask the lady’s name, monsieur?” I stammered.

“’Twas Madame du Maine,” said d’Ancenis, and my heart sank again, for
I had hoped to hear another name. “We had a little dinner together
with half a dozen others, and the duchess was the life of it. She is
a wonderful woman, only I fancied last night that she was looking
careworn.”

I thought to myself that if he knew what I knew he would not wonder
that she looked careworn.

“Well,” he continued, “she told us a story concerning you which seemed
to me well-nigh impossible. What do you think it was, Hérault?” he
asked, turning to the latter. “It was that this devil of a fellow,
together with Richelieu, not only managed to escape from the Bastille
the other night, but after keeping an appointment killed two or three
of the regent’s attendants, and then actually forced their way back
into their cells, leaving no trace of their passage, before the regent
could get to the Bastille. When he reached there they were asleep in
their cells, all the gates were barred, and not a sentry had seen them
pass. What think you of that?”

“It sounds like a story from the ‘Thousand and One Nights,’” and
Hérault looked at me questioningly. “But is it true, monsieur?”

“The facts were very much as M. d’Ancenis says, though I have never
told the story,” and I smiled at the astonishment of the two men.

“But how was this miracle accomplished?” asked Hérault.

“Ah, do not ask him that, Hérault,” cried d’Ancenis, gayly. “He may,
perchance, have need to work it again some time, and as for me, I hope
it will again succeed.”

“If I had known you were a magician of that sort, monsieur,” laughed
Hérault, “I should have placed twenty guards in your room instead of
six. There might then have been three or four whom you could not have
interested in that game of yours.”

He would have said more, but an usher interrupted him.

“The regent awaits the Marquis d’Ancenis and M. Hérault,” he said.

The two hurried after him and disappeared through a door at the farther
end of the room. I walked up and down impatiently, for I knew no one
else in the antechamber, and as the moments passed I wondered what
business of importance it was which kept them so long with the regent.
It was fully half an hour before they reappeared, and a glance at their
faces told me that something of moment had occurred. They merely nodded
to me as they passed, and hurried from the room. As I was reflecting on
their singular behavior, a page brought me a message.

“The regent regrets that he cannot see you to-day, monsieur,” he said.
“He is very busy with affairs of state.”

Well, perhaps he was busy, but I felt my apprehension deepen as I
left the palace and returned slowly to the Hotel de Richelieu. There
was nothing more to be done, at least for that day, but perhaps the
morrow would bring some hope with it. One glance at my face told
Jacques of the ill success of my efforts, but he bravely concealed his
disappointment. He told me that Richelieu had sent for certain articles
of clothing and furniture, from which he argued that his imprisonment
could not be very rigorous. I had not the heart to tell him of my grave
fears and the reasons for them, and ate my dinner in silence.

I spent the half-hour following before the fire reviewing the
situation, but look at it how I might, I could find little of comfort
in it. If the conspiracy succeeded, everything would be well, but a
haunting fear possessed me, a belief that the regent knew of it, and
that, to use Hérault’s words of the day before, he was playing with us
as a cat plays with a mouse, only to crush us more completely in the
end.

Eight o’clock sounded as I sat there musing, and I remembered with a
start that I had promised Madame du Maine to be present at her salon
that evening. I had little desire to mix in that gay company, but a
promise was a promise, and I sprang from my chair, added a few touches
to my toilet, and, leaving the house, was soon at the Tuileries.




CHAPTER XVII

THE REGENT SHOWS HIS HAND


The place was more brilliant than I had ever seen it. The room was
crowded from end to end by a throng of richly dressed people, from
whom every instant came bursts of laughter, following some witty
sally,--only to me, whose ears were perhaps unduly critical, the
laughter sounded forced and unnatural, sometimes almost hysterical.
Mlle. de Launay appeared to be everywhere at once, and left smiles
behind her wherever she went. Truly, a wonderful woman, but to me her
activity seemed feverish. The duchess, as usual, held her court at the
farther end of the room, and the crowd about her was so dense that I
despaired of getting to her, and paused to look about me. I saw that
all of her political satellites were present. Polignac was the centre
of one interested group, Chancel was declaiming his latest satire to
another, Malesieu was explaining the meaning of a Greek phrase to a
third. There were many persons present whom I had never seen before,
notably a number of gentlemen elegantly dressed but not in the latest
Paris mode, whom I immediately set down as provincial. The duchess and
her maid withdrew before I could get a word with either of them, and
I joined the group about Chancel. But I found his satire little to
my liking, for it was merely a brutal tirade against the regent, and
contained accusations which I felt certain even Chancel himself knew to
be untrue.

As the moments passed I noticed that the provincial gentlemen, as
well as the other important personages present, were approached by a
page and taken one by one to the room into which Madame du Maine had
retired, and that when they came out again there was fire in their eyes
and a new intelligence in their faces. Only once was there any break
in this stream of persons entering and leaving the cabinet. The page
appeared to be seeking some one whom he could not find.

“Have you seen the Abbé Brigaut this evening, monsieur?” I heard him
inquire of the gentleman at my elbow, and the latter replied in the
negative. He took this answer back to the duchess, and a moment later
reappeared to conduct others of those present to that mysterious door.
I was racking my brain to find an explanation of this proceeding, when
the page approached me.

“Madame du Maine wishes to speak to you a moment, M. de Brancas,” he
said, and without waiting for a reply, he led the way to the door
through which I had already seen so many enter. I followed him, and in
a moment the door closed behind me. The duchess and Mlle. de Launay
were sitting at a large table littered with papers.

“Ah, M. de Brancas,” cried the former as I entered, and I saw that her
eyes were bright and her face flushed with excitement, “it is, as you
see, a gathering of the clans. To-night we are all assembled, each to
learn his part in the drama we are about to play. You have perhaps
noticed that there are many strangers present?”

“I have indeed noticed it, madame,” I answered.

“And you have been wondering who they are, have you not? Well, I will
tell you, M. de Brancas. They are representatives of half the noble
houses of Brittany, who have come to give me personal assurance of
their support. To-night, monsieur, the threads are all in my hands, and
in five days Philip d’Orleans will no longer be regent of France.”

The lines of care had faded from her face and left her ten years
younger. Her companion had caught her enthusiasm, and her eyes were
sparkling in sympathy with those of the duchess.

“I rejoice to learn that everything goes so well,” I said, and I felt
my heart warming for these two women who had accomplished so much. “Has
madame any commands for me? I should be most happy to take a part in
the drama, even though it be a small one.”

“’Tis not a command, but a request,” she answered, quickly. “You can
be of great service to me if you will, M. de Brancas. The arrest
of Richelieu takes a cog out of the wheel, and in order that the
machine may move with perfect certainty and smoothness I wish you to
replace that cog. In a word, monsieur, what I desire is a personal
representative at Bayonne, a man whom I can trust and in whose courage
I have faith. You are that man, M. de Brancas,”--I bowed at the
compliment,--“and I ask you to go to represent me at Bayonne.”

“I will go with the greatest pleasure, madame,” I answered; “only will
the good people of Bayonne have in me the same faith which you have?”

“You will take papers with you which will inspire them with faith,
monsieur,” she answered, “and I believe that after they have known you
a few days even the papers will be unnecessary. They will be handed
to you presently, for I wish you to set out to-night. At ten o’clock
a horse will be waiting for you just without the little gate at the
back of the Tuileries, which you already know, as you passed through
it the other day with Mlle. de Launay. Here is a key to the gate. At
ten o’clock we will give you the papers; you will go out at the back
of the palace without attracting attention. You will open the gate and
lock it after you. At the other side you will find your horse. You
will mount the horse and set off for Bayonne. You will find changes of
horses awaiting you at Orleans, Tours, Poitiers, Angoulême, Bordeaux,
and Rion. Where, in detail, you are to look for these horses will be
specified in the written instructions which will be given you, since
you might forget if I were merely to tell you. And I beg of you do
not spare the horses. Upon reaching Bayonne, you will go at once to
the address which you will find in the papers. All of the papers will
then be opened and read in your presence, and you will see that the
instructions contained in them are carried out. Do you understand,
monsieur?”

“Perfectly,” I answered.

“And you agree?”

“Yes, madame.”

“I thank you, monsieur,” and she gave me her hand very prettily. “I
knew that I should not call upon you in vain. Adieu, monsieur. When we
meet again I hope to be in a position to advance your fortunes.”

It wanted but half an hour of ten o’clock when I returned to the
outer room. I was apparently the last one to whom the duchess had
instructions to give, for she soon followed me, accompanied by her
maid. The room was still crowded, and no one showed any disposition
to leave. The knowledge that the time for action was not far distant
charged the air with excitement, and men looked at men with set lips
and shining eyes. There was no mistaking the determination to strike
the regency a blow from which it could not recover, and for the first
time I began to be really confident of success.

“Where is St. Aulaire?” I heard Mlle. de Launay inquire.

“I did not invite him this evening,” answered the duchess. “He knows
nothing of our plans.”

“’Tis not like him to await an invitation, however,” observed the girl.
“Brigaut is also still missing, is he not?”

“He has doubtless been detained. He has much to do.”

She turned to the courtiers who were crowding around her, when there
came a little tumult at the door, and I saw a thin, old man pushing his
way through the crowd. At a glance I recognized St. Aulaire.

“Ah, madame,” he cried, as he neared the duchess, “the most astonishing
things have been happening in Paris this evening. Three or four hours
ago, Hérault and his men arrested a fellow called Abbé Bri--Bri--I
forget the name. Does any one here happen to know the name of a certain
adventurer which begins with Bri?” he continued, appealing to the group
about the duchess.

A silence as of death had fallen upon the room. Nearly every man within
sound of St. Aulaire’s voice knew that the Abbé Brigaut was interested
in the conspiracy, and was, indeed, one of the most trusted of Madame
du Maine’s agents in Paris, but not one of them uttered a word. St.
Aulaire found himself looking into faces of stone.

“But of course you do not,” he rattled on, after a moment. “No one here
would know him. Nevertheless, it is a most amusing story. It seems
that this abbé has a secretary, and this secretary, of course, has a
mistress. Last night he had an appointment with his mistress, which,
it appears, he did not keep,--in which he was greatly to blame. This
morning he called to make his excuses, and told the girl that his
master had kept him awake all night preparing a lot of papers which
were to be sent to Spain.”

At that word a shiver ran through the listeners, and the duchess became
livid. By a supreme effort she smiled.

“Ah, well, monsieur,” she said, “continue. We find the story very
interesting.”

“Well,” continued St. Aulaire, who did not often find so attentive an
audience and who needed no encouragement to proceed, “the girl, of
course, was an agent of Hérault. All girls of that class are. It is the
price they pay for the protection of the police. So she told a gendarme
about the Abbé Brigaut’s correspondence with Spain. The gendarme told
Hérault, Hérault told Dubois, Dubois told the regent, and there you
are. A few hours later a company of guards surrounded the house of this
abbé--who, it seems, is not really an abbé, after all--and took him
to the Bastille, where he is now comfortably lodged. His papers, of
course, were carefully gathered up and handed over to Dubois.”

“And is that all?” asked the duchess, who had bitten her lips until
they were red with blood in the effort to retain her composure.

“No, that is only the beginning,” cried St. Aulaire, enjoying immensely
the sensation he was creating and little comprehending how profound it
was. “It seems that Dubois and the regent found much to interest them
in the abbé’s papers. It is said at the Palais Royal, where I was but
a moment ago, that they discovered proofs of some ridiculous Spanish
plot, I know not what; but, at any rate, they sent Hérault to arrest
the Spanish minister, Prince Cellamare himself. There is big game for
you! They tell me that he was completely surprised--trust Hérault for
that--and made no resistance.”

St. Aulaire paused from sheer want of breath. Every one was looking
into his neighbor’s face.

“Gentlemen,” said the duchess, in a hard voice, “it seems that we are
to be too late. I would recommend that you leave here as quickly as
possible, as M. Hérault will probably not long delay paying me a visit.”

Even as they turned to go there was a tramp of feet at the door, which
swung open, giving a glimpse of armed men beyond. But only two men
entered. They were Hérault and the Marquis d’Ancenis. Without glancing
to the right or left, and with an admirable composure, they advanced
straight to the duchess along the lane which was opened for them.

“Madame du Maine,” said d’Ancenis, bowing, “I regret to inform you that
you are under arrest.”

“What, captain!” cried the duchess, and I could not but admire the
brave manner in which she took the blow, “you dine with me one evening
and arrest me the next? Is not that ungallant?”

“’Tis a disagreeable duty, madame,” answered d’Ancenis, “but one which
must be performed, nevertheless. Let no one leave the room,” he added
sharply, in a louder tone, hearing a movement behind him. But it was
no one trying to escape,--every one seemed too nearly paralyzed to
think of that, even had it been possible. It was only the Cardinal de
Polignac, intriguer, liar, and arrant coward, who had tumbled in a heap
on the floor, completely overcome by terror. He was pushed to one side
with scant ceremony and left to recover as best he might.

“I am at your orders, monsieur,” said Madame du Maine, proudly, and
d’Ancenis bowed again.

Hérault returned to the entrance and ordered in a company of the
guards, whom he posted at all the doors, while d’Ancenis prepared to
take a list of all the people in the room. This occupied some time, and
while it was in progress I again gained the side of Madame du Maine.

“Permit me to compliment you, madame,” I said in a low tone, “upon the
heroic manner in which you withstand this reverse. It is magnificent.”

The duchess looked at me with a smile.

“Perhaps all is not yet lost, monsieur,” she said, glancing quickly
around to see that no one else could hear.

“Not yet lost?” and I looked at her in amazement. “I do not understand,
madame.”

“Can I trust you?” she asked, looking at me a moment. “Yes, I think
I can. At four o’clock this afternoon, monsieur, the Duc d’Orleans,
accompanied only by three or four gentlemen, left Paris to visit the
king at Versailles, to lay before him, I do not doubt, the details of
our plans and to get his signature to certain papers which Orleans
might himself hesitate to enforce without the royal approval. St.
Aulaire was mistaken in saying that the regent was in the city this
evening.”

“What then, madame?” I asked. “I confess that I am still in the dark.”

“At nine o’clock this evening the regent was to leave Versailles to
return to Paris. Two hours later he will arrive at that part of the
road near St. Cloud where it passes through a strip of woodland. At
that point he will disappear. He will enter the wood at one side, but
he will never come out at the other. He will vanish as though the earth
had opened and swallowed him. It is a detail of the plan which, until
this moment, I have kept to myself, and of which I am certain the
police know nothing. I was arranging a pleasant little surprise for our
confederates, for with Orleans out of the way what serious opposition
could there be to Philip of Spain? Ah, well, it seems that it is this
detail which is to save us, and which may yet make Philip of Spain
regent of France. You understand now, monsieur?”

I gazed in amazement at this extraordinary woman, who permitted nothing
to stand in the way of her ambition.

“But that is assassination,” I gasped, at last.

The duchess looked at me coolly.

“Call it what you please, M. de Brancas,” she said.

“But, madame, it is something to which no gentleman could consent.”

“Do you presume to give me a lesson in honor, monsieur?” she demanded,
haughtily, though still preserving the low tone in which the entire
conversation had been conducted.

“Oh, madame,” I said, “you do not understand. Your standards of
honor are different from those of a man. To a woman everything is
permitted--almost everything, for even a woman will not break her word
if she be honorable.”

“And what then, monsieur?” she asked, looking at me in astonishment.

“Simply this, madame,” and I gave her look for look: “I do not consent
to this assassination.”

“You do not consent?” she hissed, her eyes blazing with anger. “And
pray who asks you to consent, monsieur? I do not see that it is any
concern of yours. Do you mean that you, who prate so prettily of honor,
will betray me?”

“No, madame,” I answered, “I shall not betray you,--not even to save
the regent from assassination. What you have told me in confidence I
shall tell no one. Only I shall save the regent if I can.”

“If you can,” she sneered. “That is well said. Unassisted, M. de
Brancas, I defy you to save the regent.”

I looked at her once again but said nothing. Then I left her side.
D’Ancenis was still busy taking the names of the prisoners. A group of
guards lounged at each door. I considered a moment. If I could reach
the horse which had been waiting for me since ten o’clock outside the
little gate at the back of the palace I might yet be in time to warn
the regent. Clearly, that was the only thing to be done, since I could
not betray the duchess.

I sauntered carelessly towards the group of guards who stood at the
entrance of the hall which led to the rear of the building. There
were six of them, and they were chatting among themselves. I saw with
satisfaction that the hall was dark. I was within three feet of them,
and still they did not suspect me. I gathered myself for a spring.

“Take care, gentlemen,” cried the shrill voice of the duchess, “M. de
Brancas is going to escape!”

But she was too late, for even as she spoke I sprang at the guards,
hurled back two that barred the way, and disappeared into the darkness
of the hall. They were thrown into confusion for a moment, and in that
moment I reached the rear door and felt with joy that it yielded to my
touch. As I slammed it after me a fusillade of shots rang out in the
hallway, but I was in the court. Blessing the chance which had made me
familiar with the place, I hastened towards the little gate, found it,
and inserted the key in the lock. I heard the door behind me open and a
chorus of excited cries.

“There he is!” yelled some one. “He is escaping! Fire!”

But I had the gate open and was in the street beyond. An agony of
apprehension seized me. Suppose the horse should not be there. Suppose
I should not find it in time. Yes, there it was, stamping its feet
impatiently in the darkness. I reached it and with my sword cut the
rope with which it was fastened just as my pursuers poured through
the gate into the little street. In an instant I was in the saddle,
without taking time to sheathe my sword, and the horse was off like
a flash. There was a roar of muskets and I felt a sharp pain in my
left shoulder, but my horse kept on and turned the corner into the
Rue d’Echelle. I swayed in the saddle, but the shock passed, and in a
moment I was riding firmly, my heart leaping at the rapid motion. And
I set my teeth together as I determined, come what might, to save the
regent.




CHAPTER XVIII

A RIDE THROUGH THE NIGHT


The streets were still filled with people, kept abroad apparently by
rumors of the Spanish plot, and I was compelled to draw rein and go
at a slower gait as I turned into the Rue St. Louis. Skirting the
quays and crossing the river, I was soon in the suburbs of Paris and
comparatively safe from pursuit. Here the extreme darkness delayed
me as the crowds had in the busier portion of the city, but I knew
that the distance to St. Cloud was only about six miles and that the
regent could not reach the trap that had been set for him for an hour
at least. So I gave the horse his head, confident that I should yet be
able to defeat this last resort of the duchess. As I went I wondered
who it was to whom she had committed this desperate mission, and to
this question I could find no answer. It seemed to me an enterprise
which no gentleman would undertake, and at which even a rogue would
pause unless he were already without the pale of the law and so with
little to lose. But that Madame du Maine would stoop to use such an
instrument, even in her extremity, I could not believe. So I put the
problem behind me and addressed myself to the question in hand, that of
reaching St. Cloud in time.

I had one morning during my first week in Paris amused myself by
loitering about the barrier and watching the arrival and departure of
carriages on the Versailles road, and though I had never been over this
road, I had little doubt that I should be able to find the way without
difficulty. So my heart was light as I passed through the gloomy
faubourgs, seemingly inhabited only by shadows, which slunk along under
the walls of the houses. It was not until this moment that I realized
what the failure of the plot meant to Richelieu, but even upon this
point I soon felt more at ease, for perchance if I succeeded in saving
the regent’s life he might be more inclined to listen to me.

The flare of a torch at the end of the street brought me from my
revery, and I pulled my horse to a sudden halt and peered through the
darkness ahead. I could dimly discern the barrier, and my heart seemed
to stop as I saw that the gates were closed and that two sentries were
pacing up and down in front of them. It would seem that I myself was in
a trap.

I slid from my horse, led him to a side street, tied him, and then
moved cautiously forward to examine the situation. Owing to the
darkness I drew quite close to the gates without being discovered, and
concealed myself behind a flight of steps which projected from one of
the houses. As I had seen before, two sentries were guarding the gates,
and had they been alone I might have had some chance of overpowering
them. But from the guard-house at the side came the sound of laughter
and the click of dice, and I knew that there were others there, who,
at the first cry of alarm, would rush to the rescue of their comrades.
Force, then, was not to be thought of and strategy was necessary. But
by what strategy could I hope to persuade these men to allow myself
and my horse to pass unquestioned, when they had doubtless received
strict orders to allow no one to leave the city without close scrutiny?
Here was an obstacle upon which I had not counted. In times of peace
the gates were never shut, and I had thought to pass them without
difficulty, but the discovery of the plot must have alarmed the
authorities. At any rate, the gates were closed, and I did not doubt
that some pass-word was necessary to open them.

As I was cudgelling my brains over this problem, which seemed on its
face to baffle solution, I heard the rapid beat of a horse’s hoofs
from the direction of the city, and a moment later a horse and rider
came into view. He was riding with a fine disregard of the dangers of
the loose and uneven pavement, and the sound of his rapid approach,
which awoke a thousand echoes along the gloomy street, drew five or six
guards from the sentry-house.

“Who goes there?” cried one of the men at the gate. “Stand, monsieur.”

“Who is in command here?” asked the new-comer, reining up his horse
just in time to escape running down one of the sentries. “Quick! I have
no time to lose.”

“I am, monsieur,” answered another voice from the direction of the
house, and an officer hurried into the light cast by the torches over
the gate. “What is it?”

“Orders for you, monsieur. You will read them at once. And now, open
the gate. I have further advices for the regent, who is at Versailles.”

“The pass-word, monsieur?” said the commandant of the post.

“Rocroy,” answered the courier. “Quickly, let me pass.”

The gates were opened on the instant, and the rider put spurs to his
horse and disappeared into the darkness of the road without. The gates
were shut again, and the commandant retired to the guard-house to read
his orders.

In an instant I saw my opportunity. I crept along the street until I
reached my horse. Quickly mounting, I turned him down a side street,
and came out again a little distance away on the road by which the
courier had come. With a touch of the spur I urged my horse into a
gallop, and approached the gate precisely as the first courier had done.

“Open!” I cried. “On the king’s service.”

“Pardieu,” growled the sentry, “it seems to me there are many couriers
passing here to-night. Something must be afoot. The pass-word, if you
please.”

“Rocroy,” I answered.

“All right, my friend, wait a moment,” and he placed his hand on one of
the gates and half opened it as the commandant came running from the
house, his orders still in his hand.

“Hold, Batard!” he cried to the sentry, “I wish to see this gentleman.”
The man paused, still holding the gate half open.

“Let me see,” he continued, holding the paper up to the light and
scanning it closely. “About twenty--gray suit--gray cloak--light
moustache--light hair--mounted on black horse--” he looked at me for a
moment keenly. “You cannot pass, monsieur,” he said. “It seems to me
that you are Monsieur de Brancas, whom I have just received an order to
arrest and hold at all hazard. Close the gate, Batard.”

But I had understood before he finished. I drove my spurs deep into
the horse’s flanks, and with one bound upset the fellow who was still
holding the half-opened gate. At the same instant the horse struck
the gate, the force of the shock swinging it still farther open. We
were through the opening before the guards had time to realize that
I was escaping and plunged into the darkness without the walls. For
the third time that night I knew that I should receive a volley in the
rear, and I bent low in my saddle as the shots rang out behind me.
Luckily, the rascals were too astonished to aim accurately, and the
bullets whistled harmlessly over me. But there might be a pursuit, and
I did not allow my horse to slacken his pace until the barrier was far
behind.

As I rode I reflected upon this new perfidy of the duchess, for that
she had furnished Hérault the description which had been sent to the
Versailles gate I did not doubt, and was amazed anew at the daring
and ingenuity of this woman, who knew how to use even her enemies in
accomplishing her ends. At last, believing myself safe from pursuit,
I drew up and looked about me. It was lighter here than in the narrow
streets of the city, and the moon was just peeping over the horizon,
but still I could see little. I had been delayed not less than half an
hour at the barrier and knew that I had no time to lose, so I put spurs
to my horse again and continued rapidly onward. In a few moments I came
to a place where the road forked. Which was the road to Versailles, the
right or the left? I did not know, and seeing no way of finding out,
chose the left at a hazard and continued on. I had not ridden far when
I saw at the side of the road ahead of me a dim light. As I drew nearer
I perceived that it came from the window of a low and squalid hut.
Here, perhaps, I might be able to gain the information I sought. I rode
my horse up to the door, and, drawing a pistol from the holster, rapped
with its butt.

There was silence for a moment within the house, and then the door
slowly opened. As it did so, I was astonished to see that the candle
which had been burning a moment before had been extinguished.

“What is it, monsieur?” asked a voice from the darkness within.

“Is this the road to Versailles?” I questioned.

“No, monsieur,” answered the voice, without hesitation; “you doubtless
took the wrong road at the forks a mile back. Return there, monsieur,
and take the right-hand road. Follow it straight ahead and it will lead
you to Versailles.”

“Many thanks,” I answered, and turned my horse’s head. As I did so, I
heard the click of a pistol within the room.

“Who goes to Versailles at this hour and for what?” cried another
voice, which I seemed to recognize and yet could not place. “Hold,
monsieur,” it continued; “do not move. I have you covered with my
pistol and I never miss.”

There was a note of braggartry in the voice which refreshed my memory.

“Ah, it is Cartouche,” I said. “I wish you good-evening, monsieur.”

“And who may you be?” he asked. “You have the best of me, monsieur?”

“Doubtless,” I laughed. “You meet so many people, and usually in the
dark. But you may, perhaps, remember an encounter some nights back with
a man who was lost in Paris, and who was saved from your rascals only
by the timely arrival of the Duc de Richelieu.”

“By my soul, yes,” he answered. “I have cause to remember it, since I
lost three sturdy rogues. Are you that man?”

“I am he,” and I smiled down at the invisible form within the doorway,
for I could imagine the expression which must be upon his face, “and
I am glad of the opportunity of a word with you. You do not know,
perhaps, that Richelieu is a prisoner in the Bastille and that his
head is in great danger?”

“No, I did not know it.”

“It is so, nevertheless. He told me that he did you a service once and
that you have not forgotten it.”

“That is so, monsieur,” said Cartouche.

“Perhaps you will now have opportunity to repay that kindness.”

“Perhaps,” he assented. “If the worst comes to the worst a rescue in
the Place de Greve is not impossible. It has been done before.”

“And may be done again,” I cried, “if you can muster fifty rogues who
are not afraid of steel.”

“Trust me for that,” answered Cartouche, quietly. “I can muster a
hundred such if necessary. But why is M. de Richelieu imprisoned,
monsieur?”

“Simply because the regent wishes it,” I said. “Richelieu has done
nothing.”

“Ah!” and Cartouche remained for a moment thoughtful. “Well, monsieur,”
he said, at last, in a tone full of significance, “I do not believe we
shall need to have recourse to a rescue of that character. The matter
will soon adjust itself.”

“Adjust itself? But how?” I questioned, in amazement.

“No matter,” and Cartouche laughed, a short dry laugh. “Only, monsieur,
should a rescue become necessary, you may count upon me.”

“Very well,” I said. “I shall see you again, then, if there is need,”
and I turned my horse back in the direction from which I had come.

“Wait a moment, monsieur,” he called, with a good-humored chuckle,
coming out of the house and putting up his pistol. “You are already on
the road to Versailles. It is one of the principles of our business
never to tell the truth if it can be avoided. Continue straight ahead
and you will reach St. Cloud. Ten leagues farther is Versailles.”

I turned my horse about with a jerk.

“Does the road run through a wood near here?” I asked, as I took a new
hold on the bridle.

“Not half a league farther on, monsieur,” he answered, in a surprised
voice, and I was off before he could say more. As I glanced back over
my shoulder I saw him standing there still staring after me, and then,
as though struck by a sudden idea, turn and vanish within the cabin. I
had need of haste, for eleven o’clock could not be far distant. But
the horse Madame du Maine had provided was a good one, and I laughed as
I pictured to myself how she must be tearing her hair at the thought
that it was she who had given me the means of saving the regent. The
moon had risen clear of the trees while I was parleying with Cartouche
and flooded the country with noonday brightness. Fearing no pitfalls
in this wide and level road, I spurred onward, peering ahead for the
wood of which Cartouche had spoken, but of which I could see no sign.
Once I thought I heard the beat of horses’ hoofs behind me, but when I
turned in my saddle I saw no one, and concluded that they were merely
the echo of my own. The minutes passed, and finally, to my great
relief, away before me I saw that the white road seemed to disappear
in the darkness, as though cut off at the entrance to a tunnel. This,
then, was the wood, and with new ardor, for I had begun to fear that
Cartouche had misled me, I galloped towards it. The road flew past
under my horse like some gigantic ribbon, and in a moment I was in the
shadow of the trees.

Here I paused. I did not know how far the wood extended, nor did I
know at what point the ambush had been prepared. The only thing to
be done, evidently, was to ride to the other side and stop the regent
and his party before they entered it. I proceeded cautiously, the dust
deadening the hoofbeats of my horse, for I did not know at what moment
I myself might be greeted by a volley from the roadside. At last, far
down the avenue ahead, I saw the road opening out into the plain,
and at the same moment I again heard the sound of swiftly galloping
horses in my rear. This time there was no mistaking the sound, and as
I turned, I saw a troop of three or four just entering the wood. As I
looked at them the mysterious words of Cartouche flashed into my head.
Could it be that it was to him the duchess had confided the task of
assassinating the regent, and that he had not suspected my purpose
until too late to stop me? The thought made me drive the spurs once
more into the flanks of my horse, and as I did so I heard again that
clear, sharp whistle which Cartouche had used once before to summon his
men to attack me. Almost before the sound had died away under the trees
there came a flash of fire from the roadside, a ringing report, and my
horse stumbled and nearly fell, then continued slowly onward, limping
badly. I heard the horses of my pursuers rapidly drawing nearer, and
even at that moment I saw ahead of me down the road another little
troop approaching from the direction of Versailles, and knew it was the
regent and three or four companions. Would I be in time? Would my horse
carry me out of the forest? The troop behind me was dangerously near.

“Stop, monsieur!” cried a voice, which I knew to be that of Cartouche.
“Stop or we fire!”

Without answering, I threw myself forward upon my horse’s neck and
again drove in the spurs. I could hear the poor brute’s breath coming
in gasps, and from the trembling of his body I knew he was almost done.
But it was no time to spare him, and the white road gleaming in the
moonlight just ahead was so near--so near.

Again Cartouche cried out for me to halt, and again I did not answer.

I glanced ahead and saw that the regent’s party had apparently heard
the tramp of our horses, for they had stopped to listen. In an instant
I had seized a pistol from the holster and fired it in the air. They
would hear the report and at least be prepared to face the danger which
threatened them. As my shot rang out through the still night air I
heard a savage oath behind me. There came a crash of pistols and a
great blow seemed to strike me in the head. I reeled in the saddle,
caught myself as I was falling, and held on. The earth seemed whirling
under me, strange lights danced before my eyes. I shook them from
me with clenched teeth; I was out in the moonlight; my horse still
staggered on. And then, as in a dream, I saw the regent, sitting on his
horse calmly in the middle of the road.

“Save yourself, monsieur!” I cried. “Save yourself! They would kill
you!”

I felt the horse slipping from under me, the sky grew black, something
in my head seemed to burst, and I knew no more.




CHAPTER XIX

D’ANCENIS TELLS THE STORY


I lay for some time without stirring, looking fixedly at the window in
front of me and wondering in a vague way what had happened. I could
see the sun shining brightly on some shrubbery outside the window. The
view was stopped by a wall, and a dull and monotonous roar, which I
recognized as belonging to the city, was in my ears. I perceived I was
in bed. A white, narrow bed. I turned my head slowly and gazed about
the room. It was small and plainly furnished, but seemed clean and
comfortable. The thought forced its way into my mind that I had never
before been in this room. How, then, did I get there?

I closed my eyes again, and for a long time my brain refused to grapple
with the problem. It seemed as though coming back from a country full
of mist, and clouds of the mist still clung to it. Finally, with
supreme effort of will, I opened my eyes again, and again looked
through the window and about the room. This time I could think more
clearly. No, I had never been here before, and the question repeated
itself, How, then, did I get here?

And still I could get no farther than the question. I heard a door
open, and some one tiptoed to the bedside. I found myself looking up
into a sweet, colorless face. It was surrounded by a black wimple,
and I remembered dimly that I had seen nuns wearing such. The eyes
looked down for a moment into mine and were then withdrawn. As I still
lay staring at the ceiling, another face appeared before me. It was
the face of a man whom I did not know. Or, wait a moment, I had seen
it before somewhere, but my brain seemed to recoil at the effort at
recollection.

“He is doing nicely,” I heard a voice say. “He will soon be quite well.
The danger was that he would never regain consciousness.”

Again the face was withdrawn, and I felt an arm under my head lifting
me up. A cup was pressed to my lips.

“Drink,” said a voice, the man’s voice, “it will do you good.”

I drank obediently, almost mechanically. Then I was lowered again, and
the arm was removed. A great heaviness oppressed my eyelids. I did not
struggle against it, but yielded to it gladly and drifted away into the
land of mist.

When I opened my eyes again the sun was still shining without the
window; nothing in the room was changed. But my head seemed quite
clear and I could think without weariness. What was this room in
which I found myself? I looked around and examined it attentively. A
small room, twelve feet square, perhaps, the bed, two chairs, a small
table, and a stove in one corner the only furniture. There were a
number of bottles and glasses on the table. I raised my hand to my
head, surprised at the effort it cost me, and was astonished to find a
bandage about my forehead. What had happened? Had I been injured?

And in a flash it all came back to me,--the arrest, the ride through
the night, the encounter with Cartouche, the flash of pistols and then
darkness. I must have been wounded in the head. But the regent,--was
he safe? Richelieu,--where was he? A thousand questions surged into my
brain at once. I raised myself upon my elbow and cried aloud. The door
opened in a moment, and a woman entered, the same woman whose face I
had already seen bending over me.

“Monsieur is awake, then,” she said, smiling at me kindly, but forcing
me gently back upon my pillow. “Monsieur is better.”

“Yes, yes, I am better,” I answered. “But what has happened? Where am
I? The regent, Richelieu, Madame du Maine----”

She laid her hand upon my lips.

“Have patience,” she said. “I will call the doctor.”

She left the room while I still lay overwhelmed by my thoughts. She
was soon back, and with her was the man who had accompanied her once
before, and this time I recognized him as Levau, the surgeon who had
bound up my shoulder at the Café Procope.

“Good-morning, M. de Brancas,” he cried, in a jovial voice, as he came
to my bedside. “I see you are doing famously and will soon be on your
feet again. How do you feel?”

“I feel no pain,” I answered, “but am very weak.”

“No pain in the head, eh? Well, that is good. Come, now, let me see
the wound,” and he untied the bandage from about my temples, held up
my head and apparently examined a wound at the back. “Upon my word,”
he said, after a moment, replacing the bandage, “I have never seen
anything prettier. Ah, monsieur, it is pure blood that tells, and you
are an ideal patient. Why, that stab you received in the shoulder the
other day has left nothing but a scar, and in a week from now this
little scratch will have ceased to trouble you.”

“But what is it?” I asked, scarcely able to restrain my impatience
while this examination was in progress. “I was shot, I know that; but
how did I get here, and where am I and what has been done with my
friends?”

“One question at a time, M. de Brancas,” and Levau stood smiling down
at me. “You were brought back to Paris from the place on the roadside
where the bullet which struck you in the head laid you. This is the
Hotel Dieu, and you have to thank the nursing of Sister Angelica here
that you are alive to-day. The bullet did not enter the skull, but
simply stunned you,--a glance blow. It looked for a time, however, as
though you were never going to open your eyes again. You had also a
bullet in your shoulder, but that was a mere nothing.”

“How long have I been here, then?” I asked.

“Six days, monsieur,” and Levau still smiled.

“Six days!” I gasped. “But tell me, monsieur, what has become of
Richelieu, of Madame du Maine, and of all the others.”

“Now there, M. de Brancas, you are getting beyond me,” and Levau waved
his hands deprecatingly. “I do not meddle with politics. When you ask
me concerning your injury I have my answers ready on my lips, but when
you go into politics I am all at sea. But wait a moment,” he added,
kindly; “I think I can bring you some one who has inquired after you
every day and who can answer all these questions,” and he left the
room. In a moment he returned, bringing with him a man, who rushed
towards my bed, his face alight with pleasure.

“D’Ancenis!” I cried.

“Yes, de Brancas, it is I,” and the marquis took my hand with the
heartiest of clasps. “I cannot tell how pleased I am to hear that you
will soon be well again. I had just come to inquire after you when
Levau was summoned by the nurse, and I was imagining the most horrible
things when he returned with the news that you are so much better.”

“Thank you, monsieur,” I answered, more moved than I cared to show by
his evident concern. “But tell me, where are my friends?”

D’Ancenis glanced questioningly at Levau.

The latter nodded encouragingly.

“Tell him, monsieur,” he said. “It will do him no harm to talk, and
worry might retard his recovery, although the effects of the injury are
almost passed. You will excuse me, gentlemen,” and, followed by the
nurse, he left the room.

“Very well, then,” said d’Ancenis, drawing a chair to the bedside and
again taking my hand. “Proceed with your questions, de Brancas.”

“First,” I said, after a moment’s pause to enable me to marshal my
thoughts in some kind of order, “is the regent safe?”

“Quite safe,” and d’Ancenis smiled more than ever. “That night ride of
yours, my friend, did not deserve to be otherwise than successful. I
have heard the regent tell the story a dozen times. He and his party
heard first the rapid beat of horses’ hoofs. They paused to listen,
when from the wood in front of them came a rider, clinging to his
horse’s neck and fired a pistol into the air. There was a volley of
shots behind him and he was seen to reel and almost fall. He caught
himself by a supreme effort, clung to the saddle until ten paces from
the regent, cried to him to save himself, and dropped senseless from
his horse and rolled to the side of the road. It was over in a moment,
the scoundrels who had shot him remaining concealed in the shelter
of the trees. The regent, suspecting some treachery, immediately
drew his pistols, as did the gentlemen with him, and retreated until
some distance from the wood, so that surprise was impossible. Then a
courier from Paris, who had reached him a few moments before, was sent
back half a league to St. Cloud for re-enforcements. As soon as these
arrived the wood was entered, but no one was found. The regent examined
the body by the road, and at once recognized you, my friend. He knew
not what to make of it, but ordered you picked up and brought back to
Paris. There he heard from the commandant of the Versailles gate how
you had got through. A little later, he learned from me how you had
escaped from the hall and of the efforts made by Madame du Maine to
stop you, for she was not so circumspect in this affair as is usual
with her, and betrayed herself completely. The regent can put two and
two together as well as any man, and he was not long in arriving at
a conclusion. This conclusion became a certainty when a confession
was secured from one of Cartouche’s rogues, who attempted to re-enter
Paris the next morning and was captured. He told all of the details of
the ambuscade, and how Cartouche himself, with his companions, was to
have attacked the regent should he get past the wood alive. Cartouche
has left Paris and is across the frontier by this time. Really, de
Brancas,” and d’Ancenis paused a moment to look at me, “you are a devil
of a fellow. This was quite in line with your escape from the Bastille.”

“And Richelieu?” I asked.

“Is still in prison, and likely to remain there for some time to come,
to say no worse. His offence is nothing less than treason, monsieur,
and the regent has sworn to have his head.”

I groaned aloud.

“’Tis what I feared,” I said. “I must get up,” and I raised myself on
one elbow.

“Gently, gently, de Brancas,” and d’Ancenis pushed me back again, nor
did I resist him greatly, for I was weaker than I had thought. “Do you
think one man, already half dead, would be able to liberate Richelieu?
You propose to take the Bastille by storm, I suppose, single-handed and
alone. I should not be surprised to see you undertake such an exploit.”

I remained for a moment silent.

“Tell me the rest,” I said, finally. “Madame du Maine, Cellamare, Mlle.
de Launay,--what has happened to them?”

“Cellamare was conducted out of Paris and started for Spain under a
strong escort the morning after his arrest,” answered d’Ancenis. “He
protested, of course, but it was of no use. The papers which were
found in his possession exposed all the details of the plot, which
was marvellously well arranged, and which almost makes one admire the
duchess. Madame du Maine submitted very quietly until she found she was
to be taken to the citadel of Dijon, when she fought like a tigress,
but it was to no avail, and she was safely lodged in the dungeon,
vowing a hundred kinds of vengeance against her jailers. Mlle. de
Launay wished to accompany her mistress, but the regent was afraid to
allow those two women to remain together, so mademoiselle was given a
cell in the Bastille, as were all the other prisoners arrested at the
Tuileries. We found Polignac lying senseless on the floor, and he was
quite hysterical for a time, protesting his innocence. De Mesmes did
the same, but both were silenced when they were confronted by their own
statements of their share in the conspiracy. The Duc du Maine was also
arrested.”

“The Duc du Maine?” I cried; “but he knew nothing about it. I have
never even seen him.”

“I can well believe it,” and d’Ancenis smiled. “I was deputed to
arrest him, and I found him very harmlessly engaged in looking over
his collection of snuffboxes at Sceaux. He was astounded when I gave
him an intimation of what the duchess had been doing, and was very
indignant that she had caused him to be sent to prison. He was taken to
the Château de Dourleans, stopping at every shrine along the road to
pray, for he was firmly convinced that the regent was going to have him
killed. The regent has little cause to love him, and will doubtless try
to make a case against him.”

“But he cannot succeed,” I said, confidently. “There will be a hundred
persons ready to testify in the duke’s behalf.”

“That is all the news,” concluded d’Ancenis. “Paris has been talking of
it for a week and the topic is not yet exhausted. Shall I tell you, my
friend, of what they talk most? It is of your ride, and there are fifty
pretty women ready to worship you. There has been one in particular who
has made it a point to inquire of me every day how you are getting on.”

“And who is she?” I asked, with leaping heart.

D’Ancenis looked down at me quizzically.

“’Tis more serious than I had thought,” he said, laughing. “There will
be many to envy you your good fortune, de Brancas.”

“But her name?” I asked again.

“What, man,” cried my tormentor, gayly, “would you have me be
indiscreet? No, no. You must find out the name for yourself. Ask the
lady of whom you are thinking and see what she says.”

I caught at his hand, but he eluded me, and laughed merrily as he
looked back from the door.

“Get well quickly, my friend,” he said. “Do not keep her waiting,” and
he was gone.

But I did not for a moment question the reply my heart had given me,
and when Levau looked in on me again a short time later, he found me
looking so contented that he laughed with pleasure.

“In faith, monsieur,” he cried, “I begin to believe that Captain
d’Ancenis is a better physician than I. What magic did he use?”

I merely smiled.

“When can I get out of this?” I asked.

“Oh, we will see about that,” he answered, his professional air back
upon him in an instant. “Three or four days will tell the story.”

“Three or four days? Nonsense!” I exclaimed. “Why, I am strong enough
to get out of bed this moment,” and I started as if to rise.

“Patience, patience, monsieur,” and Levau held me back. “Suppose I say
to-morrow, provided that you pass a good night and are as much stronger
in the morning as I expect you to be?”

“Agreed. And now cannot I have something to eat? I am marvellously
hungry.”

“As much as you like,” cried Levau, heartily, and he hurried away to
send my supper to me. I did it ample justice and enjoyed it greatly,
then lay for a long time thinking over all that d’Ancenis had told me,
but more particularly of Louise, and finally dropped asleep.

I felt like a new man the next morning. Save for a little soreness
at the back of my head and in my shoulder, and a slight weakness in
my legs when I tried to walk, I was as well as ever. My clothing was
brought me, and I walked around the room leaning on Levau’s arm. He
seemed indefatigable in his attentions, and after ten minutes of this
exercise he pronounced himself satisfied with my condition. Breakfast
never tasted better than did that one, which Levau ate with me, and as
soon as I had swallowed it I was anxious to depart, for Richelieu’s
danger weighed heavily upon me, and I knew not how soon the regent
might take action. Cartouche’s flight from Paris had cut off all hope
of a rescue at the last moment, even had the scoundrel been inclined to
aid me, which was now exceeding doubtful, and whatever was to be done
must be done by me alone.

After a little demur Levau consented to my departure, provided I would
take his carriage and not attempt to walk. I agreed, of course, and was
surprised when he prepared to accompany me.

“Is it that I am under arrest?” I asked, an explanation for his
extreme attentiveness coming to me suddenly.

“Not at all, monsieur,” he answered, readily. “It is only that I have
sworn you shall recover and that my reputation is at stake. I am not
going to take any chance of failure.”

“I hope that some day I shall be able to repay you for your kindness,
monsieur,” I said, moved by the evident sincerity of the man. “At
present I am not able to do so, nor to more than thank the nurse to
whom you say I owe my life.”

“Think no more of it, M. de Brancas, I pray you,” he protested, with
his familiar gesture. “Let there be no talk of payment. Indeed, I have
already been more than paid by the persons who have taken an interest
in your case.”

“And who were they, monsieur?” I asked, with some surprise.

But he merely waved his hand again and led me down to the coach, which
was waiting. The drive across Paris, the fresh air of the morning,
and the sight of the busy city were to me like a tonic, and I felt my
strength returning with every moment. Levau looked at me with evident
satisfaction.

“You will do,” he said. “With that color in your cheeks I have no
longer any fear for the result.”

We soon reached the Hotel de Richelieu, and the joy of Jacques, who ran
down the steps to welcome me, was touching to see. He would have had me
carried into the house, but I would have none of it, and insisted on
walking in myself. Levau left me at the door, admonishing me to rest
as much as possible for a day or two, and to summon him if there were
any unfavorable symptoms. Jacques led the way to the room on the first
floor where I had so often dined. He arranged a chair for me, brought
me a glass of wine, set a stool under my feet, and would have kissed my
hand had I permitted it.

“There, there, Jacques,” I protested, as he asked me for the hundredth
time if there was anything else he could do for me. “I am not going to
die, my good friend. In a day or two I shall be well as ever and then
we will see what can be done for Richelieu.”

“I knew you would say that, monsieur!” he cried. “I have heard of your
wonderful exploit of the other evening. Who in Paris has not heard of
it? Nothing seems to stop you, monsieur, when once you get started.”

I thought to myself that the walls of the Bastille were likely to stop
me very effectually, but I did not want to damp his confidence, so I
merely smiled, and after a time he left me alone while he went to give
orders for dinner.

An hour passed, during which he looked in upon me once or twice, and I
was dozing before the fire when I heard the door open again. Supposing
it to be Jacques I did not turn, but in an instant I was startled by a
hand upon my shoulder.

“Richelieu!” I cried, springing from my chair, my weakness vanishing as
if by magic, and I caught his hand. “But what miracle is this? Have you
escaped, man, and in broad daylight? You must not remain here. Come, a
horse, and in an hour you will be safe.”

“Ah, do not fear, de Brancas!” he exclaimed, bitterly, dropping into
a chair as though utterly weary. “I am quite safe. I have no need to
leave Paris.”

I gazed at him a moment in amazement. Never had I seen that pleasant
face so wretched. His hair was disordered, his eyes bloodshot, his
clothing disarranged.

“What is it?” I asked, with a sudden fear at my heart. “What has
happened?”

“You do not know, then?” and he turned his eyes wearily towards me.

“On my honor, no.”

“It was the regent who released me,” and he paused as one pauses at the
brink of a chasm which must be crossed.

“The regent?” I was too astonished to say more.

“Yes, the regent. But he had his price. It was not out of kindness of
heart. It was because he knew that it was worse than death. Do you know
what his price was, de Brancas? I will tell you. His price was his
daughter. To save me Charlotte has agreed to marry the Duc de Modena.
The marriage takes place to-morrow morning at the Palais Royal, and she
sets out at once for Italy.”




CHAPTER XX

THE SECRET STAIRCASE


I fell back into my chair and gazed at Richelieu in speechless horror.
This was a blow I had not foreseen and which I was totally unprepared
to meet. The regent, it seemed, had scored a second time. In fact, he
appeared to hold all the winning cards.

“I suspected that Orleans would try a game of this kind,” continued
the duke, after a moment. “You remember, I warned you against it, de
Brancas.”

“Yes, I remember,” I groaned, “and yet I did nothing to prevent it.”

Richelieu arose quickly and came towards me.

“Believe me,” he said, taking my hand, “I am not blaming you in the
least, my friend. But you have a bandage about your head. You have been
wounded, then? Forgive me for allowing my own affairs to blind me so.”

I answered with a pressure of the hand.

“You have not heard?” I asked, quickly.

“I have heard nothing,” said Richelieu. “They permitted me to receive
no one, to speak to no one. They would not even permit me to wave my
handkerchief to you, as you know. What has happened?”

As briefly as I could I told him the story of Madame du Maine’s arrest
and repeated what I had already heard from d’Ancenis.

“This is all very well,” said Richelieu, when I had finished, “but you
have not yet told me how you received your wound, de Brancas. Come, my
friend, I suspect another of your dare-devil adventures. Tell me about
it.”

So I told him the story of my night ride and the rescue of the regent.
Richelieu heard me with sparkling eyes.

“’Twas well done!” he cried. “By my word, I would I had been there.
You are right, de Brancas, assassination is something no gentleman can
countenance. I am surprised that Madame du Maine should go so far. She
must indeed have been desperate.” He remained silent for some moments,
musing deeply. “So the regent was too quick for us and everything is
known,--even my treason, for so it must appear to him. In faith, I do
not wonder he had sworn to have my head. And yet,” he added, “I would
he had taken it rather than that Charlotte should pay this price.”

“How did you learn of it?” I questioned.

“An hour ago,” said Richelieu, “a guard came to my cell and told me
to follow him. I did not doubt that my destination was the Place de
Greve, but I had found imprisonment so irksome that I was ready to
welcome any change, even the block. Besides, I was not sorry to have
the opportunity of showing the regent how a gentleman should die. I was
taken to the office of Maison-Rouge and left there alone with him. He
told me that the regent had ordered my release, and when I remained too
astonished to reply, he handed me a note.

“‘’Tis from the regent,’ he said.

“I opened the note, suspecting some new blow. You may guess my feelings
when I saw that it was a command to be present to-morrow morning at
the Palais Royal to witness the marriage by proxy of Charlotte and the
Duc de Modena. Across the bottom of the note was written, ‘The price
paid for the head of M. le Duc de Richelieu.’ I tore the note into a
thousand pieces. I told Maison-Rouge that I would not accept the price
and commanded him to take me back to my cell. He merely smiled, and
said that the price had already been accepted by the regent, since my
head belonged no longer to me but to him, and calling two guards, he
had me led to the outer gate, which was closed behind me.”

“I’ll wager ’twas the first time in the history of the Bastille that
a prisoner had to be forced to leave it,” I cried. “Come, monsieur,
do not despair. The regent has overleaped himself in releasing you so
soon. The price may have been accepted, but it is not yet paid.”

“Not yet paid?”

“No. And furthermore, it need never be paid if you do not wish it.”

“You have a plan, then?” cried Richelieu, his face brightening.

“Perhaps.”

“Come, let us have it,” and he clasped my hand again. “I should have
remembered that I had your clear brain and loyal heart still to rely
upon.”

“Answer me one question, M. le Duc,” I said. “Suppose the princess and
yourself were in a carriage speeding towards the frontier. Suppose
your flight was not discovered for eight or ten hours. Do you think you
would be safe?”

“Safe, de Brancas? Why, man, with one hour’s start we should be safe.
I have a dozen horses the like of which are not to be found in France,
not even in the regent’s stables.”

“And where are these horses?” I asked.

“In my stables here.”

“Then, my dear friend,” I cried, springing to my feet, “consider it
done. At ten o’clock to-night Mlle. de Valois and yourself will set out
from Paris. In two days you will be safe at Mons, that is, if you are
permitted to pass the frontier.”

“Trust me for that,” said Richelieu. “A thousand pistoles will
accomplish wonders. The only thing I do not understand, my friend, is
how you will manage to get Charlotte into the carriage with me.”

“M. le Duc,” I queried, “do you imagine for a moment that the thought
of this marriage pleases her?”

“No more than it does myself.”

“Would she not, then, welcome an opportunity of escaping it?”

“Oh, I believe so!” cried Richelieu.

“Well, trust me, M. le Duc, you shall offer her that opportunity
to-night. But we have no time to lose and there is much to do. Leave
the details of the plan to me.”

“I do not understand, but I trust you fully, my friend,” said
Richelieu, and asked no further questions.

A relay of horses was started to St. Quentin and a second to Compeigne,
to await the arrival of the carriage containing the duke and his
companion. The lightest and most comfortable carriage in his stables
was brought out and thoroughly overhauled. I myself saw that it was
piled with cushions and equipped with everything that could add to the
comfort or convenience of the travellers. I provided for every possible
contingency of which I could think, and personally interviewed the
man whom Richelieu had selected to drive until I was satisfied that
he was thoroughly acquainted with the road and that he was no coward.
The tumult caused by the discovery of the plot had quieted down, and
on inquiry I found that the gates of the city were again open day
and night, so that Richelieu would have no difficulty in passing the
barrier. We decided that the carriage should take the most direct
route and trust to speed, as it was important above everything that
it should reach the frontier ahead of any of the regent’s emissaries.
Richelieu collected together all the money he had and stored it in the
coach. I added a sword, a brace of pistols, and a musket, and a similar
equipment to the top of the coach for the use of the driver. To the
rear was strapped a case containing changes of clothing. At last I
could think of nothing more.

All this had taken time, and evening had come before the final
arrangements were completed. Then Jacques lighted the candles and
summoned us to dinner, a summons which I was not sorry to obey, for the
day’s work had wearied me greatly. He had provided a feast of great
elaborateness as a farewell to his master, but Richelieu seemed too
nervous to enjoy it. As for me, I was so certain of success that I felt
no great anxiety.

“Come, this will not do,” I remonstrated, seeing that he was merely
playing with the food. “You must eat, my friend. You will have need of
courage before you reach Mons, and I know of nothing which so tends to
make a coward of a man as an empty stomach.”

“You are right,” he answered, “but if you knew the anxiety I am
suffering at this moment you would not expect me to eat. Do you really
believe we shall succeed?”

“M. le Duc,” I said, earnestly, “success will depend largely upon
yourself. I agree to bring you into the presence of Mlle. de Valois. If
you can persuade her to flee with you, well and good, we succeed; but
if you cannot do this, we must retire defeated. Come, I drink to your
success.”

“And I to yours,” he answered. “Forgive me, de Brancas, for again
thinking only of myself. I hope with all my heart that you will be
successful.”

I bowed with brimming eyes, for he had touched me closely.

“It may be long before we dine together again, monsieur,” I said. “May
I assure you of my devoted friendship?”

“I have no need of such assurance,” and Richelieu arose from his chair
and came to the side of mine. “I have already had a hundred proofs of
it, in return for which I have done so little.”

“Oh, do not say that,” and I faced this man whom I had come to love
with a great tenderness. “What should I have done in Paris but for
you?”

And as I looked into his eyes I knew that here was one whose heart was
brave and loyal.

Too moved to say more, we continued the meal in silence, each busy with
his own thoughts. Mine were of Louise Dacour, and I wondered what the
future had in store for us. A sudden thought occurred to me.

“Mlle. Dacour may choose to accompany the princess,” I said.

“And if she does, you will join us, will you not, de Brancas?” asked
Richelieu, quickly. “Believe me, my friend, nothing would please me
more than to have you with me, but I was loath to ask you to leave
Paris while she remained behind.”

I consented, and it was agreed that I should join the duke at Brussels
within a week if Mlle. de Valois took her companion with her. And if, I
added to myself, the regent did not see fit to wreak upon my head the
wrath which he would doubtless feel towards Richelieu. But of this I
said nothing.

“Are you sure that you are strong enough to undertake this expedition?”
asked Richelieu, as we arose from table.

I laughed at him.

“You shall see, if it comes to a question of using our swords,” I said.
And then I remembered the bandage and my hand went to my head. “I
cannot wear this ridiculous thing, I must remove it,” and I started to
do so.

“Not for a moment!” cried the duke, springing to my side and seizing my
hands. “Who can tell what hurt it would do you? Leave it there, Jean,
or I swear I shall not go a step outside this house to-night.”

“But,” and I stopped. I could not tell him that it was fear of Louise’s
laughing eyes which moved me.

Richelieu understood in an instant.

“It is an honorable wound,” he said, “received in an honorable cause.
Why seek to hide it? It is the sight of wounds like that which
moves a woman’s heart. They will find your pale, bandaged head very
interesting, Jean, believe me.”

And so I left the bandage where it was.

Nine o’clock came, the carriage was waiting, we entered it, and drove
by a circuitous route to the back of the Palais Royal gardens. Here we
left it, and instructed the coachman to drive slowly up and down until
he should be called. That done, I led the way under the shade of the
chestnuts towards the palace. Richelieu asked no questions, but I could
see that he was pale with anxiety. We mounted the low wall enclosing
the little park which we had entered once before under the guidance of
Mlle. Dacour, dropped down on the other side, and turned to the right.

“Ah, ah,” whispered Richelieu, “I begin to see. You hope to gain
entrance by the secret staircase. But can you find the spring?”

“I believe so,” I answered, in the same low tone. “I was watching Mlle.
Dacour closely when she opened the door for us, and know about where it
is.” As I spoke I felt along the wall, but my fingers detected nothing.
“It was near here. Have patience,” I said, for I could feel his hand
on my arm trembling with suspense. Again I ran my hand over the wall,
pressing gently on two or three small irregularities, but without
result. “Come, I will try again,” and a third time I examined the wall,
this time more carefully and over a larger area. “Ah, I have it!” I
exclaimed as I felt a yielding under my fingers, and the door swung
inward.

“It was time,” said Richelieu, for as we entered another door near by
opened, and hurrying feet passed along the walk, even as we pushed the
door shut after us. We were in intense darkness, but I knew the way,
and guiding myself by the wall, turned without hesitation towards the
narrow hallway, Richelieu following close behind, his hand in mine. We
found the hallway without difficulty and passed along it cautiously
until we reached the end, and slowly felt our way up the little winding
staircase there. The wooden wall which formed the back of the preserve
closet stopped us.

“Wait a moment,” whispered Richelieu, as I began to feel for the
spring, whose approximate position I had also seen. “Does Charlotte
know of this visit?”

“No,” I answered; “I had no opportunity to warn her of it, else I doubt
not she would have sent some one to guide us and so saved us all this
trouble.”

“But,” Richelieu objected, “perhaps she will not be alone; perhaps she
will resent an intrusion of this kind.”

“Very well,” I answered, losing patience a little at this unexpected
wavering, which was so unlike the duke, “we can yet turn back, open
the door, return to the carriage, drive to your hotel, and secure a
good night’s rest before attending the wedding to-morrow morning.”

“Forgive me, de Brancas,” said Richelieu, after a moment. “I am so
unstrung I scarce know what I am saying. Open the door if you can find
the spring.”

I felt along the boards for two or three minutes without result. It
doubtless seemed an age to Richelieu, and I could hear him breathing
unevenly and shuffling his feet behind me.

“For God’s sake, de Brancas,” he said at last, in a strained whisper,
“make haste! This is more than I can bear.”

I felt myself beginning to tremble in sympathy with him, and pulled
myself up with a jerk, recognizing the fact that it was absolutely
necessary for one of us to keep his head.

“A little patience,” I whispered; “this spring is more difficult to
find than the other, and it is so devilishly dark here.”

Again I ran my hand up and down the wall. It was made of narrow boards
fitted closely together. Back and forth I passed my hand over it, and
just as I was beginning to despair I felt a slight inequality. I
pressed it and the door opened against us. We stepped back out of the
way, and in a moment were in the closet. The door shut behind us of its
own accord.

The door which opened from the closet into the room beyond was not
tightly closed, and through this opening we could make a partial survey
of the room. It was empty in so far as we could see, and I was about to
suggest that we make a cautious scrutiny of the remainder of it, when a
sound as of stifled sobbing startled me.

“What is that?” I whispered.

“My God, do you not know what it is?” exclaimed Richelieu. “It is
Charlotte,--Charlotte weeping over her coming sacrifice. Stay here, my
friend,” and before I could do aught to prevent him he had opened the
door, stepped through it, and closed it behind him. I heard a startled
exclamation from the princess, and at the same instant another sound
which sent a cold shiver down my back. Some one was ascending the
spiral staircase with assured and regular tread. The footsteps paused
for a moment without the door, then there came a click, a breath of
air, and a smell as of a candle newly extinguished. I drew back into
one corner of the closet, and as I did so this unknown person stepped
into it and closed the secret door behind him.




CHAPTER XXI

WHERE HONOR WINS


I pressed more closely into my corner and held my breath in suspense,
fearing lest even the beating of my heart would betray my presence.
The new-comer paused for a moment to set down the lantern, and in that
moment the voice of Richelieu penetrated to the closet.

“You are surprised to see me, Charlotte?” he was saying. “Did you think
for an instant that I would permit you to be delivered to this fate
which has been prepared for you?”

“Oh, M. le Duc!” cried the voice of the princess, broken by sobs, “I
do but save you from one danger to find you braving another. You do
not comprehend my father’s hatred. Go, I beseech you, before it is too
late.”

“Yes, I shall go in a moment, Charlotte,” answered Richelieu, in a
milder tone, “and you are going with me. At the back of the gardens
there is a carriage waiting, with four of the fastest horses in the
kingdom. In an hour we shall be far from Paris. Another day will find
us safe in the Netherlands and free to live our lives together.”

There was a moment’s silence, and I could hear the deep, agitated
breathing of the person who stood beside me. My hands began to
tremble under the strain, and I clasped them behind me to keep them
still. An increasing giddiness reminded me of my wound. The closet
was insufferably close, and my face grew wet with perspiration as I
realized my weakness.

“And whose plan is this?” asked Mlle. de Valois, at last.

“Can you not guess?” cried Richelieu. “It could be only one man,--the
one who found a way out of the Bastille,--who has stood between me and
danger a dozen times,--who even at this moment is awaiting me in the
closet there.”

I crouched for a spring, expecting an instant attack from my companion
in the closet, and determined to throttle him at any cost before an
alarm could be given. Even as I steeled myself for the struggle I heard
a startled exclamation at my side.

“Are you indeed here, M. de Brancas?” whispered a sweet voice.

“Louise, oh, Louise! is it you?” I cried, forgetting caution in the joy
and great reaction of this discovery, and I stretched out my arms and
drew her to me. “I was just about to spring upon you to prevent your
escape,” I added, laughing out of the sheer rapture of my heart.

She did not resist my arms, but, with a long sigh, laid her head upon
my breast. My blood was surging in my ears as I stooped and kissed her
hair, and I felt that she was sobbing.

“What is it, my love?” I whispered.

“Oh, do you not know?” she sobbed. “Surely you have heard of the
wedding to-morrow?”

“Yes,” I answered, “but that wedding will never take place. By
to-morrow Richelieu and Mlle. de Valois will be far from here, speeding
towards the north of France.”

“I wish so with all my heart,” and Louise drew back a little, “but it
will never be, M. de Brancas.”

“What! never be?” I cried. “But I tell you that everything is prepared,
that all that remains to be done is for them to descend, enter the
carriage, and give the word to the driver.”

“And that is just what Charlotte d’Orleans will never do,” and though
her voice was sad, it had a certain pride and dignity.

I was too astonished to reply.

“M. de Brancas,” she continued, “I know her better than do you, far
better even than Richelieu. A woman has her ideals no less than a man.
But listen, she herself is telling him.”

In the tumult of my own emotion I had no longer heeded what was
happening in the outer room, but at this moment I heard Richelieu’s
voice raised in impatient protest.

“What do you say, mademoiselle,” he cried, “that you will not go with
me? And why, may I ask? Is it that you no longer love me?”

“M. le Duc,” answered the clear voice of the princess, who seemed to
have recovered her composure, “it appears to me that it can no longer
be a question of my love, since to save your head I have agreed to this
hateful marriage. The reason is, monsieur, that I have given my word to
my father, and I do not choose to break it. He might have distrusted
me; he might have insisted that this marriage take place before you
were released, and I should have consented without an instant’s
hesitation, because I should have known that he would keep faith
with me. But he chose to trust me; you were free again an hour after
I had given my word. It is to his generosity you owe your presence
here to-night, monsieur. My sacrifice may be the greater, but I do not
choose to fall below my father.”

Richelieu remained for a moment speechless. I felt the tears starting
to my eyes.

“That is grand; that is noble,” I murmured.

Louise answered by a pressure of the hand, and I knew that she also was
affected no less than I.

It was Richelieu who broke the silence.

“Give me a moment for thought, mademoiselle,” he said, and we heard him
pacing up and down the room.

As for me, I felt a great reverence for this woman spring to life in my
heart. As I had told Madame du Maine, a woman may do anything but break
her word; no woman can do that with honor, no more than any man, and
my heart trembled with emotion as I heard the princess take the same
high ground,--with her so far above anything of which I had conceived.
I prayed that Richelieu might not fall below her. Louise was crying
softly.

“Charlotte,” said Richelieu, at last, “you are tearing my heart to
pieces, and yet I would not have you other than you are. I was a fool
to think you would consent. But,” he continued, in a clearer voice, “I
have given no promise, my honor is not engaged. I have already refused
to accept this sacrifice. What is there to prevent my taking you up in
my arms, opening the door of yonder closet, and with de Brancas at my
back running with you to the carriage and starting for the frontier?”

Again there was a moment’s silence.

“Ah, no, no!” she cried, at last. “Do not tempt me further, Louis. What
I am doing is for my own honor and for France. My father has told me
that France demands it,--that it will strengthen his empire. If you
knew how hard it is--how I turn with loathing from the task I have to
do--you would not seek to make it harder.”

“De Brancas,” called Richelieu, “come here, my friend.”

I flung the door open and stepped into the room. Mlle. de Valois
was half sitting, half lying in a large chair, her face white with
suffering, her eyes luminous with a great glory. Richelieu himself was
scarcely less affected. He glanced at Louise, who had come from the
closet with me and who was kneeling at the side of the princess.

“Good!” he exclaimed. “I am glad to see that you are here, Mlle.
Dacour. Charlotte will need a companion. Will you not accompany her?”

“I had intended doing so, M. le Duc,” answered Louise, gently, “whether
she went north or south.”

“That is well,” and Richelieu bowed to her with that courtly grace
which so well became him. “M. de Brancas and myself had already
considered this contingency and he is to join us at Brussels in a
week’s time.”

I glanced at Louise to see how she received this announcement, but
seemingly she had not heard it.

“And now, de Brancas,” continued the duke, turning to me, “we must make
haste. We have already remained here much too long.”

“True,” I answered. “It is your purpose, then, to forcibly carry away
Mlle. de Valois?”

“Since she refuses to accompany me, yes,” and Richelieu looked me in
the eyes. “Have you any other course to advise, my friend?”

I paused irresolute, glancing from one to the other. I could not choose
but speak, whatever the cost might be.

“If love were the only thing; if there were not heights of honor before
which love must bow,” I said, at last, and paused again. I could not go
on. Let these two hearts settle the future for themselves. “M. le Duc,”
I said, in a firmer voice, “it is not for me to give advice. I will do
whatever you command.”

Again Richelieu walked the length of the room, his twitching face
telling of the conflict raging in his breast. I went to the window
and gazed out upon the night. Louise was sobbing. Only the princess
remained composed. I pray heaven that my heart may never again be torn
as it was in that moment.

“M. le Duc,” she said, in the same calm tone she had used before,
“listen to the voice of your friend and to my voice, which, I am sure,
finds an answering chord in your heart. If love were the only thing
I would go with you gladly, but honor must ever outweigh love in the
hearts of all true gentlemen. Tell me, Louis, I have not been deceived
in you,--that you merit honor no less than love.”

Richelieu threw himself at her feet with a sob and caught her hand. I
knew he had won the battle.

“Forgive me, Charlotte,” he whispered, in a choking voice; “I have
played the coward, not the man. Let it be as you say, your honor and
mine before all else.”

And at these words my heart went out to him, and I knew that these
two loved each other with a love in which there was no taint of
selfishness. Years, perhaps, would dull the sting of the wound, but for
them, as for me, life would hold few sweeter memories than that of this
sacred moment. I could not trust myself to turn from the window. The
lights without were blurred with my tears and in my heart was a great
tenderness.

The princess was the strongest of us all.

“You must go, my friend,” she said, at last. “My friend I shall always
deem you,--my nearest and dearest friend,--who stood true to me in
the bitterest hour of my life. Look up,--here, in my eyes. Do you see
any sorrow there? Sorrow there may have been,--sorrow there may be
again,--but now it is swallowed up by joy and pride in you.”

I turned to look at them. It must have been with faces so transfigured
that martyrs went to the stake,--yea, Christ to His cross.

Her arms were around his neck, and she bent her head and kissed him.

“It is the last,” she said,--“the last I shall willingly give,” and she
gently loosed his hands, arose, and stood from him.

“We, also, must say good-by,” said a low voice at my elbow, and I
turned with a start to see Louise standing there.

“You, too, are going?” I cried, with a great fear at my heart.

“Yes, it is settled,” and she was looking into my eyes. “My place is
at her side. But my sacrifice, my friend, is much less than hers. I am
leaving, perhaps, people whom I love, but there is no abyss at the end
of the path such as yawns before Charlotte.”

“No,” I answered, “no,” but I could say no more.

“And believe me, M. de Brancas,” she continued, placing both her hands
in mine, “nothing that you have ever done--not even that bandage about
your head which tells of a wound so nobly won--has pleased me as did
the words you said to Richelieu. I read your heart, and I saw nothing
there but loyalty and truth.”

I gazed into her eyes, which she did not seek to turn from mine,
trembling in every limb,--trembling too much to speak.

“You may kiss me,” she whispered, and I bent and kissed her on the
lips. “Now go, and let that be your accolade for the knightly spirit
you have shown to-night. Oh, do not seek to hide the tears. I could not
love a man who had not a tender heart.”

She pushed me gently from her. I turned to find that Richelieu had also
risen and was waiting.

“Come, my friend,” he said, “let us go,” but he did not take his eyes
from the princess, who was standing, pale, lovely, with the air of a
general who has fallen mortally wounded at the moment of victory.

I went to her and knelt as at a shrine.

“Mademoiselle,” I said, “I cannot hope to tell you how great a
reverence you have inspired in my heart to-night, but I trust that if
you are ever in need of a sword and a loyal heart you will remember
me. I can think of no greater honor than that of serving you.”

“I shall remember, M. de Brancas,” she answered, smiling down upon me
and giving me her hand. “I know you for a brave gentleman and faithful
friend. I shall not soon forget it.”

I kissed her hand and stood erect once more. Plainly it was time to
go, and with a last glance at my love, I laid my hand on Richelieu’s
arm and drew him towards the closet. He yielded without a word. Only
when the door had closed behind us did he falter, but I pressed him on,
down the spiral staircase, along the little hall, and through the outer
door. He started as it clicked shut behind us and leaned against the
wall.

“Oh, I can go no farther, de Brancas!” he exclaimed. “Think to what
fate I am abandoning her. She may be brave now, perhaps, but what of
the days and the years that are yet to come?”

“It is as she would wish,” I answered, gently. “Come, we must not
remain here.”

I led him to the low wall, which we climbed a second time, along
the avenue of chestnuts and to the street beyond. The carriage was
awaiting us. I called the driver.

“You will return to the Hotel de Richelieu,” I said, and entered after
the duke.

The way seemed interminably long, nor did I venture to offer any
further sympathy to the stricken man in the other corner. My own heart
was sore enough, not only with his sorrow but with my own.

Jacques met us at the steps. One glance at his master’s face told him
the story.

“You will drive to the stables,” he said to the coachman. “I will soon
join you there,” and he followed us within and shut the door.

Richelieu paused a moment on the stairs.

“I will go to my room, de Brancas,” he said, in a weary voice. “I wish
to be alone, my friend,” and he went on up the stairs. I watched him
until he disappeared from sight, and then turned into a room on the
lower floor.

“Send him up a bottle of wine, Jacques,” I said. “He needs it now as he
never did before in his life.”

“He has lost, then, M. de Brancas?”

I glanced at his honest face.

“Yes, he has lost in a way,” I answered. “But he has also won a great
victory, my friend.”

“He had not the air of a victor, monsieur.”

“Ah, Jacques,” and I smiled rather grimly, “there are some victories
which cost the victor more than the vanquished. This was one of that
kind. But they are victories just the same, Jacques, though men,
sometimes, do not so consider them.”

I turned to the fire and sat down before it. This, then, was the end.
And was it the end, also, of my love for Louise Dacour? When should I
see her? What did the future hold for us? I gazed into the depths of
the glowing embers and saw again her sweet face looking up at me, her
eyes on mine, and I knew that come what might that vision would never
leave me. The clock chimed midnight, and as I started bedward, I heard
Richelieu walking back and forth in the room overhead. And a great
wave of pity for him swept over me as I thought of the battle he was
fighting and the ordeal he had yet to face.




CHAPTER XXII

AT THE PALAIS ROYAL


I had scarce opened my eyes the next morning when there came a rap at
the door.

“Come in!” I cried.

The door opened and Jacques entered.

“An order for you, M. de Brancas,” he said, “left here a moment ago by
one of the regent’s guards,” and he handed me a folded paper.

I opened it with a trembling hand. What new move was this?

“M. de Brancas,” I read, “will be in the chapel of the Palais Royal
at nine o’clock this morning. He will accompany the Duc de Richelieu,
and will not leave until the ceremony which is to take place at that
hour has been concluded. He will then proceed directly to the private
audience-chamber. Signed, Orleans, Regent.”

“’Tis hardly a new calamity, Jacques,” I said, seeing his anxious face,
“but it may presage one. Is Richelieu awake?”

“He is in the dining-hall awaiting you, monsieur.”

“Tell him I will join him in a moment,” and leaping out of bed, I was
soon dressed and downstairs.

I looked at the duke anxiously as I advanced to take his hand, and was
pleased to note that his face showed less disorder than I had feared.

“Ah, do not look so depressed, my friend!” he cried, rising to meet me.
“I have finished the battle, and I fancy you will no longer find me the
foolish and vacillating creature of last night. At least, I shall be
strong enough to say yes or no.”

“That is well, monsieur,” I said, but I glanced at him with some
concern, for his gayety seemed feverish. I judged it best to say
nothing on that score, however, and we sat down to breakfast together,
the duke maintaining a rapid flow of conversation which awakened in me
still more uneasiness.

“I received an order this morning from the regent,” I said, at last,
“commanding me to accompany you to the Palais Royal this morning at
nine o’clock. If you think the sight will prove too painful, you could
easily feign illness, monsieur.”

“No, no,” and Richelieu grew grave in a moment. “I shall go, my friend,
and prove to Charlotte that I am not the coward she must think me.”

“But it seems an unnecessary trial for both of you,” I protested.

“The regent has ordered it, de Brancas,” answered Richelieu, quietly;
“and do you know why he has ordered it? Simply to give me pain. Ah,
well, I will show him that I can smile even when my heart is breaking.”

He fell silent for a time and then suddenly arose.

“Come,” he said, “we have no time to lose. It will be a brilliant
assembly and we must pay some attention to our toilettes. You are to
consider mine as your own, my friend. All I have would be too little to
show my gratitude.”

I thanked him, but declined his offer. I was resolved to wear no
borrowed plumage, but to go as plain Jean de Brancas. Richelieu
looked at me with a smile as he joined me in the hall,--a smile of
understanding,--but he said nothing. We entered the carriage which was
waiting and were driven rapidly across the Seine. I glanced at him
anxiously. He appeared more composed than I.

There was a blockade of vehicles in the Rue St. Honoré and we could
proceed but slowly. Richelieu seemed rather to court than to shun
observation and nodded gayly to all whom he knew. But every journey
must have an end, and at last we drew up before the entrance to the
Palais Royal, crossed the court, and mounted the steps together. The
chapel was already crowded with a gay company, and they seemed to turn
their heads with one accord and look at us as we entered. Some whisper
had got abroad of Richelieu’s love for the princess, and every one was
curious to see how he would endure the ordeal. My heart leaped as I saw
him advancing with head erect and eyes sparkling, bowing gayly to right
and left. It was as I would have a brave man go to the block. He took
his station at the side of Mlle. de Charolais, the regent’s sister, in
the front rank of the spectators, and began a lively conversation with
her. I had not his confidence in my power to conceal my feelings, and
chose a less conspicuous position somewhat in the rear.

We had not long to wait. A sudden silence fell upon the crowd, and
before the altar appeared the priest, vested in surplice and white
stole. At either side of him came the acolytes and choir boys, and even
as they took their places the bridal procession entered. I who was
standing behind Richelieu saw the nervous energy with which he gripped
his sword, but his lips still smiled even when the bride, conducted by
the regent, passed in her wedding finery. I gazed at her with bated
breath. Her face was white as her wedding-gown and her eyes were
lustrous and dark and full of high purpose. I had never seen her so
beautiful.

My eyes turned from her to the lady following, and with a start I
recognized Louise. She, too, was pale, and I saw that her lips were
trembling, but she went bravely on, looking neither to the right nor to
the left. The crowd of courtiers and powdered ladies closed in behind
her, and I dimly remember hearing some one say that the ceremony was to
be the simplest possible, that the bride had so ordered it.

The murmur of the crowd died away to a whisper, to profound silence,
broken only by the voice of the priest. I felt my head whirling and my
hand trembling like a leaf. And then came the voice of the princess,
calm, clear, firm, and my eyes were wet with tears. I dared not glance
in Richelieu’s direction. I feared that even yet he might attempt to
drag her from the altar. Above the beating of my heart arose the voice
of the priest,--

“Ego conjungo vos in matrimonium, in nomine Patris, et Filii, et
Spiritus Sanctu.”

And it was done. I know not what I had expected,--a bolt from heaven,
perhaps--some warning of divine displeasure,--but in my heart I had
not until this moment believed that this marriage was to be. What
followed I do not know. I heard a confused sound of chanting far in the
distance; the odor of incense was in my nostrils. A movement in the
crowd jostled me rudely, and as the people fell back to right and left
I saw again the victim of this sacrifice, her eyes more luminous, her
face more livid, but her head no less erect, her step no less firm.
At her side was a dark and swarthy man whom I had never seen before,
but whom I knew to be the representative of the Duc de Modena, for the
marriage had been by proxy. They passed down the aisle and out of sight.

I stood as a man dazed. I could not believe that what I had witnessed
had really happened. It seemed that I must be dreaming. A touch on the
arm aroused me, and I turned to find Richelieu at my side.

“Come, my friend,” he said, smiling sadly, “I, too, have just received
an order from the regent. It is to join my regiment at Bayonne without
delay. A guard of horse awaits me at the door.”

“And you will go?” I asked.

“Yes,” he answered, “I shall be glad to get away from Paris for a time.
There is nothing but sad memories here for me. You are to make my house
your home,” he continued, earnestly. “Perhaps, some time, you may even
care to join me at Bayonne. Good-by, my friend,” and as though unable
to say more, he pressed my hand and hurried towards the door.

I gazed after him until he had disappeared in the crowd, and I wondered
sadly what I should do alone in Paris. Without Richelieu and without
Louise my life would indeed be aimless and void of interest. I watched
the crowd as it gradually dispersed. More than one curious glance was
shot in my direction, but no one spoke to me, and the chapel soon
became deserted.

A voice at my side startled me.

“Monsieur has an appointment with the regent, has he not?” asked the
voice, and I turned and saw one of the ushers of the palace.

“Yes; I had forgot it,” I answered, remembering in a moment the order I
had received ere I was out of bed.

“I will conduct monsieur to the audience-chamber,” he said, and at a
gesture of assent he led the way.

“Do you know when Mlle. de Valois leaves?” I asked.

“The Duchess de Modena leaves at once for Italy to join her husband.”

“True,” I murmured, “she is no longer Mlle. de Valois,” and I followed
him in silence. I was not, then, to see Louise again. There was no room
in my heart for any other thought. I was crushed, hopeless. My guide
opened the door into the audience-chamber which I knew so well. He
stood aside and I entered. A glance showed me that the room was empty.

“The regent requests you to await him here, monsieur,” said the usher,
and closed the door.

I sank into a chair, utterly weary and disheartened. Never, even at
Poitiers, had my life appeared so barren and so fruitless. I felt
as a shipwrecked man must feel who is left alone in the midst of a
great waste of water, without a spar to cling to, without a hope of
succor,--overwhelmed, impotent, a pigmy. I comprehended dimly that I
had been struggling against a force greater than I had understood,--a
force that had brushed me aside out of its path without seeing me,--a
force against which my puny strength counted as less than nothing.

The opening of a door aroused me, and I arose as I saw the regent enter.

“Sit down, M. de Brancas,” he said, kindly, himself taking the large
chair in which he always sat. “This is to be a friendly conference,
I trust,” and he smiled at me, though, I fancied, sadly. “This is
the first time I have seen you since you dashed out of the wood with
Cartouche’s rascals at your heels, and I see that your wound is not
yet well. Believe me, monsieur, I am not ungrateful for the valor you
showed that night, and I appreciate and respect the feeling which sent
you to my rescue.”

“’Twas what any gentleman would have done,” I said, simply, and that
night seemed far away.

“’Twas what any gentleman would have tried to do, perhaps,” answered
the regent, “but which few could have accomplished. Do not belittle
yourself, M. de Brancas. I admire strong men who pause at nothing, even
though they be against me. Few could have done what you have done since
you have been in Paris.”

“And to what end?” I cried. “Everything that I have done, every hope
that I have cherished, was blown into thin air this morning.”

“There is one thing which even the bravest men assault in vain,” and
the regent’s manner had a certain majesty which became him well. “That
is the state. They may break themselves against it as they will, they
may think that they have victory within their grasp, but in the end the
state stands firm, unshaken. It cannot stop to examine every heart, M.
de Brancas. It must move steadily forward towards the goal it has in
view. Some hearts may be crushed, some lives embittered, but the state
lives, and the state is above everything.”

“But did the state demand this sacrifice?” I asked.

“The state demanded it, yes, M. de Brancas,” and a cloud descended upon
the regent’s face. “I love my daughters, monsieur. I do not delight in
torturing them. But the father must yield to the regent, just as the
man must yield to the state. I tell you plainly that no other price
could have bought the head of Richelieu. I was determined that no
member of my house--the reigning house--should continue a liaison with
a traitor. I was determined that treason should not be permitted to
conceal itself behind the throne, ready to hurl it down at any moment;
and had there been no other way, that traitor’s head should have fallen
on the Place de Greve as a warning to other traitors. But there was
another way, and it has been accomplished. A severed neck has never
been known to heal, monsieur, but broken hearts are not so fatal, for
Time is a wonderful surgeon. I will govern France with justice and
kindness if I can; but when treason raises its head, I will strike and
without mercy. Above everything, it shall be I who governs France,
and no one else. My daughter’s marriage with this Italian prince has
strengthened France, and she needs all the strength the devotion of her
subjects can give her.”

He paused for a moment, the cloud still on his brow.

“You have doubtless heard many stories about me, M. de Brancas,” he
continued. “Some of them are true, perhaps, but there is one which is
not true. It is the most monstrous of all. Chancel has made the most of
it in his last philippic.”

I knew what he meant. Indeed, I had heard Chancel reciting it at
the house of Madame du Maine, and had turned away in disgust at the
statement that Orleans aimed to poison the king and seize the throne
himself.

“Shall I tell you what is the greatest ambition of my life? It is to
place in the hands of Louis XV., when he ascends the throne, a kingdom
greater than the one which I now hold in trust; a kingdom free from
debt and from the abuses which grind the people into the earth. I may
have mistresses, M. de Brancas, but no one has ever yet been able to
say truthfully that I deliver the kingdom into their hands, as other
and greater rulers than I have done.”

He had risen as he spoke, and at these words he stood beside my chair
and laid his hand upon my shoulder. I was strangely moved. Assuredly
there was no enmity in my heart for this man, however great the sorrow
he had caused my dearest friend.

“I do not know why I tell you this,” he continued, in a calmer voice,
“unless it be that I know you for a brave and loyal gentleman, with
whom I am proud to measure myself. The bravest act of all, monsieur,
was the one you did last night in the apartments of my daughter.”

“You knew of it, then?” I asked in wonderment.

“Yes, I knew of it,” and the regent smiled with a brighter face. “My
daughter came to me after you had gone and told me of it,--not to ask
anything for herself, monsieur, but to ask something for some one else
whom she loves. And I was proud of my daughter,--how proud I cannot
tell you,--and I promised her that what she asked should be done.
Indeed, I had already thought of it before she asked.”

“But Richelieu also deserves some praise, monsieur,” I said. “He chose
the nobler part.”

“Yes, but required prompting in it,” answered the regent, quickly.
“However, he has his reward, monsieur. I had intended banishing him
as a firebrand dangerous to the peace of the kingdom. Instead, I have
merely sent him to Bayonne, and will soon release him even from there.
The reward is for others, monsieur, who behaved more nobly still.”

I gazed at him in astonishment too deep for words, for this was not the
Philip d’Orleans whom I had known and whom the world knew. This was a
handsome gentleman with smiling lips and brilliant eyes, a man whose
whole appearance was singularly winning.

“There is yet wanting one person to our conference,” he said, after a
moment. “That person will soon be here. In fact, she is coming now.”

I heard the door open behind me,--the rustle of a dress. My heart told
me who it was. I sprang from my chair and faced Louise Dacour.




CHAPTER XXIII

THE REGENT’S GRATITUDE


She wore the same gown in which she had followed the princess to
the altar, and there were traces of tears upon her face. She walked
straight to the regent, without glancing in my direction.

“What is it, monsieur?” she cried, “what is it that has separated me
from Charlotte at this last moment?”

“And did she tell you nothing?” asked the regent, kindly.

“She told me only that it had been done at her request and that she
wished it. She bade me good-by at her carriage window, and said that
you would explain it all to me.”

“And so I shall,” said the regent. “You would wish to do what my
daughter desires you to do, would you not, mademoiselle, and what you
knew would make her happier?”

“Oh, M. le Duc, can you ask?”

“No, I do not need to ask,” and the regent smiled into her anxious
face. “Only, before beginning, I wish to assure you, mademoiselle,
that that which follows is really what my daughter does wish, and what
will, I am certain, truly make her happier. You will believe this,
mademoiselle?”

“I will try to do so,” and Louise looked at him wonderingly. Evidently
she, also, was not acquainted with this man of kindly face and tender
voice.

“Sit down, then, mademoiselle,” he said, “and you also, M. de Brancas.
What I have to say will take some time and I do not wish to weary you.”

We did as he bade, and I gazed at Louise with all my love in my eyes,
but she did not vouchsafe me a glance.

“We must commence first with M. de Brancas,” and the regent picked
up some papers which were lying on the table at his elbow. “I pray
neither of you to interrupt me until I have finished. This paper which
I hold in my hand is the report of the Marquis d’Ancenis, captain of
the guards. It informs me that among the gentlemen who were found in
the salon of Madame du Maine on the night of the discovery of the
plot was a certain M. Jean de Brancas. It adds that there can be no
possible doubt of his complicity in the plot, that he had been aware of
all its details for several days, that he was present at a conference
between Mlle. de Launay and Prince Cellamare, that on that occasion he
resisted and dangerously wounded one of M. Hérault’s agents, that he
subsequently caused to be delivered to M. Hérault a number of spurious
papers for the purpose of misleading him, and that he has, in a word,
been guilty of treason.”

“But, M. le Duc----” protested Mlle. Dacour. The regent stopped her
with a gesture.

“M. de Brancas has, then, been guilty of the gravest crime which can be
charged against a subject of France,” he continued. “All persons who
conspire against the kingdom must be punished. To this there can be no
exception. All of the other conspirators have been imprisoned. M. de
Brancas must therefore be imprisoned. Some of the other conspirators
must lose their heads. M. de Brancas’s further punishment has also to
be considered.”

At last she looked at me,--only a glance, but a glance that made my
heart leap.

“And have you brought me here to torture me?” she cried.

“Have patience,” and the regent smiled down again into her upturned
face. “You will learn in a moment, mademoiselle. This,” he continued,
picking up another paper, “is a second report concerning M. de Brancas.
It relates how he escaped from the salon by overturning two of the
guards, mounted a horse and rode away no one knew whither, evading two
volleys which were fired after him. Here is a third report, stating
that Madame du Maine endeavored to prevent his escape, and furnished a
description of the horse and rider, which was sent to all the gates of
Paris, and especially, at her urgent request, to the Versailles gate.
This paper is the report of the commandant of the Versailles gate.
It relates how M. de Brancas arrived at the gate in the guise of a
courier, having in some way obtained the pass-word; how, in the instant
that an attempt was made to arrest him, he rode down a sentry, forced
open the gate, and plunged into the outer darkness. The report adds
that a volley of musketry was fired after him, but that he apparently
escaped uninjured, and that the absence of horses prevented a pursuit.
Here is a report from Levau, chief surgeon of the Hotel Dieu, to whom
this case was especially intrusted. It states that M. de Brancas was
brought there suffering from a pistol-shot in the head and another in
the shoulder, that he recovered from both wounds and was discharged
practically well again.”

The regent paused and I got another glance from Louise. She was
breathing more freely and the color was returning to her face. What
cared I for the regent if only she loved me?

“But the most important report of all is not here,” he continued. “That
is my report, which, however, has never been put into writing. It is
that on this same night I was returning to Paris from Versailles, where
some business had summoned me. I had passed St. Cloud, when out of the
wood ahead rode a madman, who fired a pistol into the air, cried to me
to save myself, and rolled lifeless into the road. The report would
add that, upon examination, this madman was found to be the same M.
de Brancas concerning whom so many reports have already been written.
The report would conclude by stating that a plot to assassinate me was
subsequently discovered.”

Again the regent paused for a moment. Ah! the joy in my heart when
Louise looked at me a third time,--this time almost with a smile.

“In other words,” went on the regent, “the object of this mad ride
through the night, this overcoming of so many obstacles, this
encountering of so many perils,--in short, this achievement almost
superhuman,--was to save my life from a band of murderers. For this I
am grateful, and I intend to show my gratitude. This, M. de Brancas,”
and he picked up another paper, “is the title to a pretty little estate
in Normandy. It is called Arneaux. This title, monsieur, I give you,
and I instruct you to set out for your estate as soon as possible. It
is upon your estate that I propose to imprison you.”

I took the paper, too stupefied to speak. An estate for me--for me,
Jean de Brancas!

“But this is more than I merit, monsieur,” I stammered. He silenced me
with a gesture. Louise was beaming at me, her eyes bright with tears.

“It was at this point,” continued the regent, whose face grew ever
more smiling, “that my daughter came to my assistance. It was last
night that she knocked at the door of my apartment, and after she
had entered, she told me of an act of loyalty before which I count
all this as nothing. She told me of a man who held honor above love
and friendship, and of a woman who held loyalty and honor above love.
Believe me, monsieur and mademoiselle, there are not many such. And in
return for this my daughter suggested that I also appoint a jailer for
M. de Brancas.”

“But, M. le Duc,” protested Louise, “M. de Brancas does not need a
jailer. His simple word of honor, it seems to me, should be sufficient.”

I confess my head was in a whirl. I knew not what to think.

“So I thought,” answered the regent, “and so I told my daughter, but I
was silenced when she told me whom she wished me to name as jailer. I
have made out the appointment here. You will see it is in due form. ‘I,
Philip d’Orleans, Regent of France, in the name of His Most Gracious
Majesty, Louis XV., of France, do this day appoint as jailer of M. Jean
de Brancas, to securely guard upon his estate at Arneaux by whatever
means may seem necessary, one Mlle. Louise Dacour----’”

Louise uttered a cry of astonishment. I was on my feet in an instant.
The regent silenced us both with another wave of the hand.

“‘The only condition being,’” he continued, “‘that Mlle. Dacour shall
be united in marriage to the prisoner, M. de Brancas, in order that she
may be able to guard him more effectually at all times. Signed, Philip
d’Orleans, Regent of France.’ Now, M. de Brancas, we will hear you
first. Is it that you object to this jailer?”

“No, M. le Duc,” I answered, not daring to glance at Louise. “God
knows, I would willingly spend my whole life in such a prison. But I
ask no assistance in love, monsieur, nor do I wish any woman, however
much I love her, to be compelled to marry me.”

The regent looked at me for a moment with a smile.

“And who has said anything about compulsion, my friend?” he asked.
“Certainly, not I. It is for Mlle. Dacour to choose. I fancy you would
suffer little with such a jailer, but if she does not desire the
position, she has only to refuse it.”

I turned to Louise. She, too, had risen, and her face was rosy with
blushes and tender with a great tenderness. She was looking at me with
brimming eyes. For a moment I did not understand.

“Louise!” I cried, “Louise!”

“M. le Duc,” she said, with the prettiest bow in the world, “I believe
I will accept the trust.”

In an instant she was in my arms, and the regent, with smiling face,
left us alone together.




A LAST WORD


The roses are blooming about me in this little garden in Normandy, for
it is June, and six months have gone since that memorable audience with
the regent,--six months that have passed like a dream. I have been busy
looking over my estate--how strangely it sounds, even yet, to say “my
estate!”--getting acquainted with my people and trying to make them
love me.

I receive a letter from Paris now and then, and from these I learn the
news. Madame du Maine is still at Dijon, and the other conspirators are
also still in prison, but the regent is not vindictive, and I believe
will soon release them. To the Bretons he was not so merciful, and more
than one went to the gibbet. But the kingdom is at peace, and we hear
no more of plots against it.

I close my eyes, and see again the lovely face of Charlotte d’Orleans
as I saw it last and as I love best to remember it, and I pray that it
may yet be my good fortune to be of service to her. Stranger things
have happened, and, who knows, perhaps some day the chance will come.

And Richelieu? Ah, Richelieu is coming next week to be my guest, and
how I shall delight to take him by the hand, to show him over my
estate, to talk with him again!

As I lay down my pen I hear a stealthy step upon the walk behind me,
and two soft hands are clasped upon my eyes.

“Guess who it is,” cries a merry voice.

“I do not need to guess, my love,” I answer. “My heart tells me too
surely,” and I draw my wife’s laughing face down to mine and kiss her
fondly.




TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:


  Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.

  Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

  Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.