We left Buvat going up to his own room, with his papers in his hand, to fulfill his promise to the Prince de Listhnay, and this promise was so scrupulously kept, that by seven o'clock the next evening the copy was finished and taken to the Rue du Bac. He then received from the same august hands some more work, which he returned with the same punctuality; so that the Prince de Listhnay, feeling confidence in a man who had given such proofs of exactitude, gave him at once sufficient papers to necessitate an interval of three or four days between this interview and the next. Buvat was delighted with this mark of confidence, and, on his return, set himself gayly to his work; and, although he found that he did not understand a word of Spanish, he could now read it fluently, and had become so accustomed to it, that he felt quite disappointed when he found among the copies one all in French. It had no number, and almost appeared to have slipped in by mistake; but he resolved, nevertheless, to copy it. He began with these lines:
"Confidential.
"For his Excellency Monsieur Alberoni in person.
"Nothing is more important than tomake sure of the places near the Pyrenees, and of the noblemen who reside in these cantons."
"In these cantons!" repeated Buvat, after having written it; then, taking a hair from his pen, he continued:
"To gain or master the garrison of Bayonne."
"What is that?" said Buvat. "Is not Bayonne a French town? Let us see—let us see;" and he continued:
"The Marquis de P—— is governor of D——. One knows the intentions of that nobleman; when it is decided, it will be necessary for him to triple his expenditure, in order to attract the aristocracy: he ought to scatter rewards.
"In Normandy, Charenton is an important post. Pursue the same course with the governor of that town as with the Marquis of P——; go further—promise his officers suitable rewards.
"Do the same in all the provinces."
"Hallo!" cried Buvat, re-reading what he had just written; "what does this mean? It seems to me that it would be prudent to read it all before going further."
"He read:
"To supply this expenditure one ought to be able to reckon on at least three hundred thousand francs the first month, and afterward a hundred thousand per month, paid to the day."
"Paid to the day!" murmured Buvat, breaking off. "It is evidently not by France that these payments are to be made, since France is so poor that she has not paid me my nine hundred francs' salary for five years. Let us see—let us see;" and he recommenced:
"That expenditure, which will cease at the peace, will enable his Catholic majesty to act with certainty in case of war.
"Spain will only be an auxiliary. The army of Philip V. is in France."
"What! what! what!" cried Buvat; "and I did not even know that it had crossed the frontier."
"The army of Philip V. is in France. A body of about ten thousand Spaniards is more than sufficient, with the presence of the king.
"But we must be able to count on being able to seduce over at least half of the Duc d'Orleans' army (Buvat trembled). This is the most important, and cannot be done without money. A present of one hundred thousand francs is necessary for each battalion or squadron.
"Twenty battalions would be two millions; with that sum one might form a trustworthy army, and destroy that of the enemy.
"It is almost certain, that the subjects most devoted to the king of Spain will not be employed in the army which will march against him. Let them disperse themselves through the provinces; there they will act usefully. To resupply them with a character—if they have none—it will be necessary for his Catholic majesty to send his orders in blank, for his minister in Paris to fill up.
"In consequence of the multiplicity of orders, it would be better if the ambassador had the power to sign for the king of Spain.
"It would be well, moreover, if his majesty were to sign his orders as a French prince; the title is his own.
"Prepare funds for an army of thirty thousand men, whom his majesty will find brave, skillful, and disciplined.
"This money should arrive in France at the end of May, or the commencement of June, and be distributed directly in the capitals of provinces, such as Nantes, Bayonne, etc.
"Do not allow the French ambassador to leave Spain. His presence will answer for the safety of those who declare themselves."
"Sabre de bois!" cried Buvat, rubbing his eyes; "but this is a conspiracy—a conspiracy against the person of the regent, and against the safety of the kingdom. Oh! oh!"
Buvat fell into profound meditation.
Indeed the position was critical. Buvat mixed up in a conspiracy—Buvat charged with a state secret—Buvat holding in his hands, perhaps, the fate of nations: a smaller thing would have thrown him into a state of strange perplexity.
Thus seconds, minutes, hours flowedaway, and Buvat remained on his chair, his head drooping, his eyes fixed on the floor, and perfectly still. From time to time, however, a deep breath—like an expression of astonishment—escaped his breast.
Ten o'clock, eleven—midnight sounded. Buvat thought that the night would bring him aid, and he determined to go to bed. It is needless to say that his copying came to an end, when he saw that the original was assuming an illegal character.
Buvat could not sleep; the poor fellow tossed from side to side, but scarcely had he shut his eyes, before he saw this horrible plan of the conspiracy written upon the wall in letters of fire. Once or twice, overcome by fatigue, he fell asleep; but he had no sooner lost consciousness, than he dreamed, the first time that he was arrested by the watch as a conspirator; the second that he was stabbed by the conspirators themselves. The first time Buvat awoke trembling; the second time bathed in perspiration. These two impressions had been so terrible, that he lighted his candle, and determined to wait for day, without another attempt to sleep.
The day came, but, far from dispelling the phantoms of the night, it only gave a more terrific reality. At the least noise Buvat trembled. Some one knocked at the street-door. Buvat thought he should faint. Nanette opened his room door, and he uttered a cry. Nanette ran to him, and asked what was the matter, but he contented himself with shaking his head, and answering, with a sigh—
"Ah, my poor Nanette, we live in very sad times."
He stopped directly, fearing he had said too much. He was too preoccupied to go down to breakfast with Bathilde; besides, he feared lest the young girl should perceive his uneasiness, and ask the cause; and as he did not know how to keep anything from her, he would have told her all, and she would then have become his accomplice. He had his coffee sent up to him, under pretext of having an overwhelming amount of work to do, and that he was going to work during breakfast. As Bathilde's love profited by this absence, she was rather pleased at it than otherwise.
A few minutes before ten, Buvat left for his office; his fears had been strong in his own house, but once in the street, they changed into terrors. At every crossing, at the end of every court, behind every angle, he thought that he saw the police-officers waiting for him. At the corner of the Place des Victoires a musketeer appeared, coming from the Rue Pagevin, and Buvat gave such a start on seeing him, that he almost fell under the wheels of a carriage. At last, after many alarms, he reached the library, bowed almost to the ground before the sentinel, darted up the stairs, gained his office, and falling exhausted on his seat, he shut up in his drawer all the papers of the Prince de Listhnay, which he had brought with him, for fear the police should search his house during his absence; and finding himself in safety, heaved a sigh, which would not have failed in denouncing him to his colleagues as being a prey to the greatest agitation, if he had not, as usual, arrived the first.
Buvat had a principle, which was, that no personal preoccupation, whether grave or gay, ought to disturb a clerk in the execution of his duty. Therefore he set himself to his work, apparently as if nothing had happened, but really in a state of moral perturbation impossible to describe.
This work consisted, as usual, in classifying and arranging books. There having been an alarm of fire three or four days before, the books had been thrown on the floor, or carried out of the reach of the flames, and there were consequently four or five thousand volumes to be reinstated in their proper places; and, as it was a particularly tedious business, Buvat had been selected for it, and had hitherto acquitted himself with an intelligence and assiduity which had merited the commendations of his superiors, and the raillery of his colleagues.
In spite of the urgency of the work, Buvat rested some minutes to recover himself; but as soon as he saw the door open, he rose instinctively, took a pen,dipped it in the ink, took a handful of parchment labels, and went toward the remaining books, took the first which came to hand, and continued his classification, murmuring between his teeth, as was his habit under similar circumstances.
"The 'Breviary of Lovers,' printed at Liege in 1712; no printer's name. Ah, mon Dieu! what amusement can Christians possibly find in reading such books? It would be better if they were all burned in the Place de Grève by the hand of the public hangman! Chut! What name have I been pronouncing there! I wonder who this Prince de Listhnay, who has made me copy such things, is; and the young man who, under pretense of doing me a service, introduced me to such a scoundrel. Come, come, this is not the place to think about that. How pleasant it is writing on parchment; the pen glides as if over silk. What is the next?"
"Well, monsieur," said the head clerk, "and what have you been doing for the last five minutes, with your arms crossed and your eyes fixed?"
"Nothing, M. Ducoudray, nothing. I was planning a new mode of classification."
"A new mode of classification! Are you turned reformer? Do you wish to commence a revolution, M. Buvat?"
"I! a revolution!" cried Buvat, with terror. "A revolution, monsieur!—never, oh, never! Good heavens, my devotion to monseigneur the regent is known; a disinterested devotion, since he has not paid me for five years, as you know."
"Well, go on with your work."
Buvat continued:—"'Conspiracy of Monsieur de Cinq Mars'—diable! diable! I have heard of that. He was a gallant gentleman, who was in correspondence with Spain; that cursed Spain. What business has it to mix itself up eternally with our affairs? It is true that this time it is said that Spain will only be an auxiliary; but an ally who takes possession of our towns, and who debauches our soldiers, appears to me very much like an enemy. 'Conspiracy of Monsieur de Cinq-Mars, followed by a History of his Death, and that of Monsieur de Thou, condemned for not revealing it. By an Eye-Witness.' For not revealing! It is true, no doubt, for the law is positive. Whoever does not reveal is an accomplice—myself, for instance. I am the accomplice of the Prince de Listhnay; and if they cut off his head, they will cut off mine too. No, they will only hang me—I am not noble. Hanged!—it is impossible; they would never go to such extremities in my case: besides, I will declare all. But then I shall be an informer: never! But then I shall be hanged—oh, oh!"
"What is the matter, Buvat?" said a clerk: "you are strangling yourself by twisting your cravat."
"I beg your pardon, gentlemen," said Buvat, "I did it mechanically; I did not mean to offend you."
Buvat stretched out his hand for another book. "'Conspiracy of the Chevalier Louis de Rohan.' Oh, I come to nothing but conspiracies! 'Copy of a Plan of Government found among the Papers of Monsieur de Rohan, and entirely written by Van der Enden.' Ah, mon Dieu! yes. That is just my case. He was hanged for having copied a plan. Oh, I shall die! 'Procès-verbal of the Torture of Francis-Affinius Van der Enden.' If they read one day, at the end of the conspiracy of the Prince de Listhnay, 'Procès-verbal of the Torture of Jean Buvat!'" Buvat began to read.
"Well, well, what is the matter, Buvat?" said Ducoudray, seeing the good man shake and grow pale: "are you ill?"
"Ah, M. Ducoudray," said Buvat, dropping the book, and dragging himself to a seat, "ah, M. Ducoudray, I feel I am going to faint."
"That comes of reading instead of working," said an employé.
"Well, Buvat, are you better?" asked Ducoudray.
"Yes, monsieur, for my resolution is taken, taken irrevocably. It would not be just, by Heaven, that I should bear the punishment for a crime which I never committed. I owe it to society, to my ward, to myself. M. Ducoudray, if thecurator asks for me, you will tell him that I am gone out on pressing business."
And Buvat drew the roll of paper from the drawer, pressed his hat on to his head, took his stick, and went out with the majesty of despair.
"Do you know where he has gone?" asked the employé.
"No," answered Ducoudray.
"I will tell you;—to play at bowls at the Champs-Elysées, or at Porcherons."
The employé was wrong; he had neither gone to the Champs-Elysées nor to Porcherons. He had gone to Dubois.
"M. Jean Buvat," said the usher. Dubois stretched out his viper's head, darted a look at the opening which was left between the usher and the door, and, behind the official introducer, perceived a little fat man, pale, and whose legs shook under him, and who coughed to give himself assurance. A glance sufficed to inform Dubois the sort of person he had to deal with.
"Let him come in," said Dubois.
The usher went out, and Jean Buvat appeared at the door.
"Come in, come in," said Dubois.
"You do me honor, monsieur," murmured Buvat, without moving from his place.
"Shut the door, and leave us," said Dubois to the usher.
The usher obeyed, and the door striking the posterior part of Buvat, made him bound a little way forward. Buvat, shaken for an instant, steadied himself on his legs, and became once more immovable, looking at Dubois with an astounded expression.
In truth, Dubois was a curious sight. Of his episcopal costume he had retained the inferior part; so that he was in his shirt, with black breeches and violet stockings. This disagreed with all Buvat's preconceived notions. What he had before his eyes was neither a minister nor an archbishop, but seemed much more like an orang-outang than a man.
"Well, monsieur," said Dubois, sitting down and crossing his legs, and taking his foot in his hand, "you have asked to speak to me. Here I am."
"That is to say," said Buvat, "I asked to speak to Monseigneur the Archbishop of Cambray."
"Well, I am he."
"How! you, monseigneur?" cried Buvat, taking his hat in both hands, and bowing almost to the ground: "excuse me, but I did not recognize your eminence. It is true that this is the first time I have had the honor of seeing you. Still—hum! at that air of majesty—hum, hum—I ought to have understood—"
"Your name?" asked Dubois, interrupting the good man's compliments.
"Jean Buvat, at your service."
"You are—?"
"An employé at the library."
"And you have some revelations to make to me concerning Spain?"
"That is to say, monseigneur—This is how it is. As my office work leaves me six hours in the evening and four in the morning, and as Heaven has blessed me with a very good handwriting, I make copies."
"Yes, I understand," said Dubois; "and some one has given you suspicious papers to copy, so you have brought these suspicious papers to me, have you not?"
"In this roll, monseigneur, in this roll," said Buvat, extending it toward Dubois.
Dubois made a single bound from his chair to Buvat, took the roll, and sat down at a desk, and in a turn of the hand, having torn off the string and the wrapper, found the papers in question. The first on which he lighted were in Spanish; but as Dubois had been sent twice to Spain, and knew something of the language of Calderon and Lopez de Vega, he saw at the first glance how important these papers were. Indeed, they were neither more nor less than the protestation of the nobility, the list of officers who requested commissions under the king of Spain, and the manifesto prepared by the Cardinal de Polignac and the Marquis de Pompadour to rouse the kingdom. These different documents were addressed directly to Philip V.; and a little note—which Dubois recognized as Cellamare's hand writing—announced that the denouement of the conspiracy was near at hand; he informed his Catholic majesty, from day to day, of all the important events which could advance or retard the scheme. Then came, finally, that famous plan of the conspirators which we have already given to our readers, and which—left by an oversight among the papers which had been translated into Spanish—had opened Buvat's eyes. Near the plan, in the good man's best writing, was the copy which he had begun to make, and which was broken off at the words, "Act thus in all the provinces."
Buvat had followed all the working of Dubois's face with a certain anxiety; he had seen it pass from astonishment to joy, then from joy to impassibility. Dubois, as he continued to read, had passed, successively, one leg over the other, had bitten his lips, pinched the end of his nose, but all had been utterly untranslatable to Buvat, and at the end of the reading he understood no more from the face of the archbishop than he had understood at the end of the copy from the Spanish original. As to Dubois, he saw that this man had come to furnish him with the beginning of a most important secret, and he was meditating on the best means of making him furnish the end also. This was the signification of the crossed legs, the bitten lips, and the pinched nose. At last he appeared to have taken his resolution. A charming benevolence overspread his countenance, and turning toward the good man, who had remained standing respectfully—
"Take a seat, my dear M. Buvat," said he.
"Thank you, monseigneur," answered Buvat, trembling; "I am not fatigued."
"Pardon, pardon," said Dubois, "but your legs shake."
Indeed, since he had read the procès-verbal of the question of Van der Enden, Buvat had retained in his legs a nervous trembling, like that which may be observed in dogs that have just had the distemper.
"The fact is, monseigneur," said Buvat, "that I do not know what has come to me the last two hours, but I find a great difficulty in standing upright."
"Sit down, then, and let us talk like two friends."
Buvat looked at Dubois with an air of stupefaction, which, at any other time, would have had the effect of making him burst out laughing, but now he did not seem to notice it, and taking a chair himself, he repeated with his hand the invitation which he had given with his voice. There was no means of drawing back; the good man approached trembling, and sat down on the edge of his chair; put his hat on the ground, took his cane between his legs, and waited. All this, however, was not executed without a violent internal struggle as his face testified, which, from being white as a lily when he came in, had now become as red as a peony.
"My dear M. Buvat, you say that you make copies?"
"Yes, monseigneur."
"And that brings you in—?"
"Very little, monseigneur, very little."
"You have, nevertheless, a superb handwriting, M. Buvat."
"Yes, but all the world does not appreciate the value of that talent as your eminence does."
"That is true, but you are employed at the library?"——"I have that honor."
"And your place brings you—?"
"Oh, my place—that is another thing, monseigneur; it brings me in nothing at all, seeing that for five years the cashier has told us at the end of each month that the king was too poor to pay us."
"And you still remained in the service of his majesty? that was well done, M. Buvat; that was well done."
Buvat rose, saluted Dubois, and reseated himself.
"And, perhaps, all the while you have a family to support—a wife, children?"
"No, monseigneur; I am a bachelor."
"But you have parents, at all events?"
"No, monseigneur; but I have a ward, a charming young person, full of talent, who sings like Mademoiselle Berry, and who draws like Greuze."
"Ah, ah! and what is the name of your ward, M. Buvat?"
"Bathilde—Bathilde du Rocher, monseigneur; she is a young person of noble family, her father was squire to Monsieur the Regent, when he was still Duc de Chartres, and had the misfortune to be killed at the battle of Almanza."
"Thus I see you have your charges, my dear Buvat."
"Is it of Bathilde that you speak, monseigneur? Oh no, Bathilde is not a charge; on the contrary, poor dear girl, she brings in more than she costs. Bathilde a charge! Firstly, every month M. Papillon, the colorman at the corner of the Rue Clery, you know, monseigneur, gives her eighty francs for two drawings; then—"
"I should say, my dear Buvat, that you are not rich."
"Oh! rich, no, monseigneur, I am not, but I wish I was, for poor Bathilde's sake; and if you could obtain from monseigneur, that out of the first money which comes into the State coffers he would pay me my arrears, or at least something on account—"
"And to how much do your arrears amount?"
"To four thousand seven hundred francs, two sous, and eight centimes, monseigneur."
"Is that all?" said Dubois.
"How! is that all, monseigneur?"
"Yes, that is nothing."
"Indeed, monseigneur, it is a great deal, and the proof is that the king cannot pay it."
"But that will not make you rich."
"It will make me comfortable, and I do not conceal from you, monseigneur, that if, from the first money which comes into the treasury—"
"My dear Buvat," said Dubois, "I have something better than that to offer you."
"Offer it, monseigneur."
"You have your fortune at your fingers' ends."
"My mother always told me so, monseigneur."
"That proves," said Dubois, "what a sensible woman your mother was."
"Well, monseigneur! I am ready; what must I do?"
"Ah! mon Dieu! the thing is very simple, you will make me, now, and here, copies of all these."
"But, monseigneur—"
"That is not all, my dear Monsieur Buvat. You will take back to the person who gave you these papers, the copies and the originals, you will take all that that person gives you; you will bring them to me directly, so that I may read them, then you will do the same with other papers as with these, and so on indefinitely, till I say enough."
"But, monseigneur, it seems to me that in acting thus I should betray the confidence of the prince."
"Ah! it is with a prince that you have business, Monsieur Buvat! and what may this prince be called?"
"Oh, monseigneur, it appears to me that in telling you his name I denounce—"
"Well, and what have you come here for, then?"
"Monseigneur, I have come here to inform you of the danger which his highness runs, that is all."
"Indeed," said Dubois, in a bantering tone, "and you imagine you are going to stop there?"
"I wish to do so, monseigneur."
"There is only one misfortune, that it is impossible, my dear Monsieur Buvat."
"Why impossible?"
"Entirely."
"Monseigneur, I am an honest man."
"M. Buvat, you are a fool."
"Monseigneur, I still wish to keep silence."
"My dear monsieur, you will speak."
"And if I speak I shall be the informer against the prince."
"If you do not speak you are his accomplice."
"His accomplice, monseigneur! and of what crime?"
"Of the crime of high treason. Ah! the police have had their eyes on you this long time, M. Buvat!"
"On me, monseigneur?"
"Yes, on you; under the pretext that they do not pay you your salary, you entertain seditious proposals against the State."
"Oh! monseigneur, how can they say so?"
"Under the pretext of their not paying you your salary, you have been making copies of incendiary documents for the last four days."
"Monseigneur, I only found it out yesterday; I do not understand Spanish."
"You do understand it, monsieur?"
"I swear, monseigneur."
"I tell you you do understand it, and the proof is that there is not a mistake in your copies. But that is not all."
"How, not all?"
"No, that is not all. Is this Spanish? Look, monsieur," and he read:
"'Nothing is more important than to make sure of the places in the neighborhood of the Pyrenees, and the noblemen who reside in the cantons.'"
"But, monseigneur, it was just by that that I made the discovery."
"M. Buvat, they have sent men to the galleys for less than you have done."
"Monseigneur!"
"M. Buvat, men have been hanged who were less guilty than you."
"Monseigneur! monseigneur!"
"M. Buvat, they have been broken on the wheel."
"Mercy, monseigneur, mercy!"
"Mercy to a criminal like you, M. Buvat! I shall send you to the Bastille, and Mademoiselle Bathilde to Saint Lazare."
"To Saint Lazare! Bathilde at Saint Lazare, monseigneur! Bathilde at Saint Lazare! and who has the right to do that?"——"I, M. Buvat."
"No, monseigneur, you have not the right!" cried Buvat, who could fear and suffer everything for himself, but who, at the thought of such infamy, from a worm became a serpent. "Bathilde is not a daughter of the people, monseigneur! Bathilde is a lady of noble birth, the daughter of a man who saved the life of the regent, and when I represent to his highness—"
"You will go first to the Bastille, M. Buvat," said Dubois, pulling the bell so as nearly to break it, "and then we shall see about Mademoiselle Bathilde."
"Monseigneur, what are you doing?"
"You will see." (The usher entered.) "An officer of police, and a carriage."
"Monseigneur!" cried Buvat, "all that you wish—"
"Do as I have bid you," said Dubois.
The usher went out.
"Monseigneur!" said Buvat, joining his hands; "monseigneur, I will obey."
"No, M. Buvat. Ah! you wish a trial, you shall have one. You want a rope, you shall not be disappointed."
"Monseigneur," cried Buvat, falling on his knees, "what must I do?"
"Hang, hang, hang!" continued Dubois.
"Monseigneur," said the usher, returning, "the carriage is at the door, and the officer in the anteroom."
"Monseigneur," said Buvat, twisting his little legs, and tearing out the few yellow hairs which he had left, "monseigneur, will you be pitiless!"
"Ah! you will not tell me the name of the prince?"
"It is the Prince de Listhnay, monseigneur."
"Ah! you will not tell me his address?"
"He lives at No. 110, Rue du Bac, monseigneur."
"You will not make me copies of those papers?"
"I will do it, I will do it this instant," said Buvat; and he went and sat down before the desk, took a pen, dipped it in the ink, and taking some paper, began the first page with a superb capital. "I will do it, I will do it, monseigneur; only you will allow me to write to Bathilde that I shall not be home to dinner. Bathilde at the Saint Lazare?" murmured Buvat between his teeth, "Sabre de bois! he would have done as he said."
"Yes, monsieur, I would have done that, and more too, for the safety of the State, as you will find out to your cost, if you do not return these papers, and if you do not take the others, and if you do not bring a copy here every evening."
"But, monseigneur," cried Buvat, in despair, "I cannot then go to my office."
"Well then, do not go to your office."
"Not go to my office! but I have notmissed a day for twelve years, monseigneur."
"Well, I give you a month's leave."
"But I shall lose my place, monseigneur."
"What will that matter to you, since they do not pay you?"
"But the honor of being a public functionary, monseigneur; and, moreover, I love my books, I love my table, I love my hair seat," cried Buvat, ready to cry; "and to think that I shall lose it all!"
"Well, then, if you wish to keep your books, your table, and your chair, I should advise you to obey me."
"Have I not already put myself at your service?"
"Then you will do what I wish?"
"Everything."
"Without breathing a word to any one?"
"I will be dumb."
"Not even to Mademoiselle Bathilde?"
"To her less than any one, monseigneur."
"That is well. On that condition I pardon you."
"Oh, monseigneur!"
"I shall forget your fault."
"Monseigneur is too good."
"And, perhaps, I will even reward you."
"Oh, monseigneur, what magnanimity!"
"Well, well, set to work."
"I am ready, monseigneur. I am ready."
And Buvat began to write in his most flowing hand, and never moving his eyes, except from the original to the copy, and staying from time to time to wipe his forehead, which was covered with perspiration. Dubois profited by his industry to open the closet for La Fillon, and signing to her to be silent, he led her toward the door.
"Well, gossip," whispered she, for in spite of his caution she could not restrain her curiosity; "where is your writer?"
"There he is," said Dubois, showing Buvat, who, leaning over his paper, was working away industriously.
"What is he doing?"
"Guess."
"How should I know?"
"Then you want me to tell you?"
"Yes."
"Well, he is making my cardinal's hat."
La Fillon uttered such an exclamation of surprise that Buvat started and turned round; but Dubois had already pushed her out of the room, again recommending her to send him daily news of the captain.
But the reader will ask what Bathilde and D'Harmental were doing all this time. Nothing—they were happy.
Four days passed thus, during which Buvat—remaining absent from the office on pretext of indisposition—succeeded in completing the two copies, one for the Prince de Listhnay, the other for Dubois. During these four days—certainly the most agitated of his life—he was so taciturn and gloomy that Bathilde several times asked him what was the matter; but as he always answered nothing, and began to sing his little song, Bathilde was easily deceived, particularly as he still left every morning as if to go to the office—so that she saw no material alteration from his ordinary habits.
As to D'Harmental, he received every morning a visit from the Abbe Brigaud, announcing that everything was going on right; and as his own love affairs were quite as prosperous, D'Harmental began to think that to be a conspirator was the happiest thing on the earth.
As to the Duc d'Orleans, suspecting nothing, he continued his ordinary life, and had invited the customary guests to his Sunday's supper, when in the afternoon Dubois entered his room.
"All, it is you, abbe! I was going to send to you to know if you were going to make one of us to-night."
"You are going to have a supper then, monseigneur?" asked Dubois.
"Where do you come from with your fast-day face? Is not to-day Sunday?"
"Yes, monseigneur."
"Well, then, come back to us; here is the list of the guests. Nocé, Lafare, Fargy, Ravanne, Broglie; I do not inviteBrancas: he has been wearisome for some days. I think he must be conspiring. Then La Phalaris, and D'Averne, they cannot bear each other; they will tear out each other's eyes, and that will amuse us. Then we shall have La Souris, and perhaps Madame de Sabran, if she has no appointment with Richelieu."
"This is your list, monseigneur?"
"Yes."
"Well, will your highness look at mine now?"——"Have you made one, too?"
"No, it was brought to me ready made."
"What is this?" asked the regent, looking at a paper which Dubois presented to him.
"'Nominal list of the officers who request commissions in the Spanish army: Claude Francois de Ferrette, Knight of Saint Louis, field marshal and colonel of cavalry; Boschet, Knight of Saint Louis, and colonel of infantry, De Sabran, De Larochefoucault-Gondrel, De Villeneuve, De Lescure, De Laval.' Well, what next?"
"Here is another;" and he presented a second letter to the duke.
"'Protestation of the nobility.'"
"Make your lists, monseigneur, you are not the only one, you see—the Prince de Cellamare has his also."
"'Signed without distinction of ranks, so that there may be no dissatisfaction:—De Vieux-Pont, De la Pailleterie, De Beaufremont, De Latour-du-Pin, De Montauban, Louis de Caumont, Claude de Polignac, Charles de Laval, Antoine de Chastellux, Armand de Richelieu.' Where did you fish up all this, you old fox?"
"Wait, monseigneur, we have not done yet. Look at this."
"'Plan of the conspirators: Nothing is more important than to make sure of the strong places near the Pyrenees, to gain the garrison of Bayonne.' Surrender our towns! give the keys of France into the hands of the Spanish! What does this mean, Dubois?"
"Patience, monseigneur; we have better than that to show you; we have here the letters from his majesty Philip V. himself."
"'To the king of France—' But these are only copies."
"I will tell you soon where the originals are."
"Let us see, my dear abbe, let us see. 'Since Providence has placed me on the throne of Spain,' etc., etc. 'In what light can your faithful subjects regard the treaty which is signed against me?' etc., etc. 'I beg your majesty to convoke the States-General of the kingdom.' Convoke the States-General! In whose name?"
"In the name of Philip V."
"Philip V. is king of Spain and not of France. Let him keep to his own character. I crossed the Pyrenees once to secure him on his throne; I might cross them a second time to remove him from it."
"We will think of that later—I do not say no; but for the present we have the fifth piece to read—and not the least important as you will see."
And Dubois presented another paper to the regent, which he opened with such impatience that he tore it in opening it.
"Never mind," said Dubois, "the pieces are good; put them together and read them."
The regent did so, and read—
"'Dearly and well beloved.'
"Ah!" said the regent, "it is a question of my deposition, and these letters, I suppose, were to be given to the king?"
"To-morrow, monseigneur."
"By whom?"——"The marshal."
"Villeroy?"
"Himself."
"How did he determine on such a thing?"
"It was not he; it was his wife, monseigneur."
"Another of Richelieu's tricks?"
"You are right, monseigneur."
"And from whom do you get these papers?"
"From a poor writer to whom they have been given to be copied, since, thanks to a descent made on Laval's house, a press which he had hidden in the cellar has ceased to work."
"And this writer is in direct communication with Cellamare? The idiots!"
"Not at all, monseigneur; their measures are better taken. The good man has only had to deal with the Prince de Listhnay."
"Prince de Listhnay! Who is he?"
"Rue du Bac, 110."
"I do not know him."
"Yes, you do, monseigneur."
"Where have I seen him?"
"In your antechamber."
"What! this pretended Prince de Listhnay?"
"Is no other than that scoundrel D'Avranches, Madame de Maine's valet-de-chambre."
"Ah! I was astonished that she was not in it."
"Oh! she is at the head, and if monseigneur would like to be rid of her and her clique, we have them all."
"Let us attend to the most pressing."
"Yes, let us think of Villeroy. Have you decided on a bold stroke?"
"Certainly. So long as you confine yourself to parading about like a man at a theater or a tournament, very well; so long as you confine yourself to calumnies and impertinences against me, very good; but when it becomes a question of the peace and tranquillity of France, you will find, Monsieur le Marechal, that you have already compromised them sufficiently by your military inaptitude, and we shall not give you an opportunity of doing so again by your political follies."
"Then," said Dubois, "we must lay hold of him?"
"Yes; but with certain precautions. We must take him in the act."
"Nothing easier. He goes every morning at eight o'clock to the king."
"Yes."
"Be to-morrow at half-past seven at Versailles."
"Well?"
"You will go to his majesty before him."——"Very well."
The regent and Dubois talked for some little time longer, after which Dubois took his leave.
"There is no supper this evening," said Dubois to the usher, "give notice to the guests; the regent is ill."
That evening at nine o'clock the regent left the Palais Royal, and, contrary to his ordinary habit, slept at Versailles.
The next day, about seven o'clock in the morning, at the time when the king rose, an usher entered his majesty's room and announced that his royal highness, Monseigneur le Duc d'Orleans, solicited the honor of assisting at his toilet. Louis XV., who was not yet accustomed to decide anything for himself, turned toward Monsieur de Frejus, who was seated in the least conspicuous corner of the room, as if to ask what he should say; and to this mute question Monsieur de Frejus not only made a sign with his head signifying that it was necessary to receive his royal highness, but rose and went himself to open the door. The regent stopped a minute on the doorstep to thank Fleury, then having assured himself by a rapid glance round the room that the Marshal de Villeroy had not yet arrived, he advanced toward the king.
Louis XV. was at this time a pretty child of nine or ten years of age, with long chestnut hair, jet-black eyes, and a mouth like a cherry, and a rosy complexion like that of his mother, Mary of Savoy, duchesse de Burgundy, but which was liable to sudden paleness. Although his character was already very irresolute, thanks to the contradictory influences of the double government of the Marshal de Villeroy and Monsieur de Frejus, he had something ardent in his face which stamped him as the great-grandson of Louis XIV.; and he had a trick of putting on his hat like him. At first, warned against the Duc d'Orleans as the man in all France from whom he had most to fear, he had felt that prejudice yield little by little during the interviews which they had had together, in which, with that juvenile instinct which so rarely deceives children, he had recognized a friend.
On his part, it must be said that the Duc d'Orleans had for the king, beside the respect which was his due, a love the most attentive and the most tender. Thelittle business which could be submitted to his young mind he always presented to him with so much clearness and talent, that politics, which would have been wearisome with any one else, became a recreation when pursued with him, so that the royal child always saw his arrival with pleasure. It must be confessed that this work was almost always rewarded by the most beautiful toys which could be found, and which Dubois, in order to pay his court to the king, imported from Germany and England. His majesty therefore received the regent with his sweetest smile, and gave him his little hand to kiss with a peculiar grace, while the archbishop of Frejus, faithful to his system of humility, had sat down in the same corner where he had been surprised by the arrival of the regent.
"I am very glad to see you, monsieur," said Louis XV. in a sweet little voice, from which even the etiquette which they imposed upon him could not entirely take away all grace; "and all the more glad to see you from its not being your usual hour. I presume that you have some good news to tell me."
"Two pieces, sire," answered the regent; "the first is, that I have just received from Nuremberg a chest which seems to me to contain—"
"Oh, toys! lots of toys! does it not, Monsieur le Regent?" cried the king, dancing joyously, and clapping his hands, regardless of his valet-de-chambre who was waiting for him, and holding the little sword with a cut-steel handle which he was going to hang in the king's belt. "Oh, the dear toys! the beautiful toys! how kind you are! Oh! how I love you, Monsieur le Regent!"
"Sire, I only do my duty," answered the Duc d'Orleans, bowing respectfully, "and you owe me no thanks for that."
"And where is it, monsieur? Where is this pretty chest?"
"In my apartments, sire; and if your majesty wishes it brought here, I will send it during the course of the day, or to-morrow morning."
"Oh! no; now, monsieur; now, I beg."
"But it is at my apartments."
"Well, let us go to your apartments," cried the child, running to the door, and forgetting that he wanted, in order to complete his toilet, his little sword, his little satin jacket, and his cordon-bleu.
"Sire," said Frejus, advancing, "I would remark that your majesty abandons yourself too entirely to the pleasure caused by the possession of things that you should already regard as trifles."
"Yes, monsieur; yes, you are right," said Louis XV., making an effort to control himself; "but you must pardon me; I am only ten years old, and I worked hard yesterday."
"That is true," said Monsieur de Frejus; "and so your majesty will employ yourself with the toys when you have asked Monsieur le Regent what the other piece of news which he came to bring you is."
"Ah! yes. By-the-by, what is the second affair?"
"A work which will be profitable to France, and which is of so much importance that I think it most necessary to submit it to your majesty."
"Have you it here?" asked the king.
"No, sire; I did not expect to find your majesty so well inclined to work, and I left it in my study."
"Well," said Louis XV., turning half toward Monsieur de Frejus, half toward the regent, and looking at both of them with an imploring eye, "cannot we reconcile all that? Instead of taking my morning walk, I will go and see these beautiful Nuremberg toys, and when we have seen them we will pass into your study and work."
"It is against etiquette, sire," answered the regent, "but if your majesty wishes it—"
"Oh, I do wish it! That is," added he, turning and looking at Frejus so sweetly that there was no resisting it, "if my good preceptor permits it."
"Does Monsieur de Frejus see anything wrong in it?" said the regent, turning toward Fleury, and pronouncing these words with an accent which showed that the preceptor would wound him deeply byrefusing the request which his royal pupil made him.
"No, monseigneur," said Frejus; "quite the contrary. It is well that his majesty should accustom himself to work; and if the laws of etiquette are a little violated, that violation will bring about a happy result for the people. I only ask of monseigneur the permission to accompany his majesty."
"Certainly, monsieur," said the regent, "with the greatest pleasure."
"Oh, how good! how kind!" cried Louis XV. "Quick! my sword, my jacket, my cordon-bleu. Here I am, Monsieur le Regent;" and he advanced to take the regent's hand. But instead of allowing that familiarity, the regent bowed, and, opening the door, signed to the king to precede him, following three or four paces behind, hat in hand, together with Frejus.
The king's apartments, situated on the ground floor, were level with those of the Duc d'Orleans, and were only separated by an antechamber, opening into the king's rooms, and a gallery leading from thence to the antechamber of the regent. The distance was short, therefore, and—as the king was in haste to arrive—they found themselves in an instant in a large study, lighted by four windows, all forming doors, which opened into the garden. This large study led to a smaller one, where the regent generally worked, and where he brought his most intimate friends and his favorites. All his highness's court was in attendance—a very natural circumstance, since it was the hour for rising. The king, however, did not notice either Monsieur d'Artagnan, captain of the Gray Musketeers, or the Marquis de Lafare, captain of the Guards, or a very considerable number of the Light Horse, who were drawn up outside the windows. It is true that on a table in the middle of the room, he had seen the welcome chest, whose monstrous size had, in spite of the chilling exhortation of Monsieur de Frejus, caused him to give a cry of joy.
However, he was obliged to contain himself, and receive the homage of Monsieur d'Artagnan and Monsieur de Lafare; meanwhile the regent had called two valets-de-chambre, who quickly opened the lid, and displayed the most splendid collection of toys which had ever dazzled the eyes of a king of nine years old. At this tempting sight, the king forgot alike perceptor, guards, and Gray Musketeers. He hastened toward this paradise which was opened to him, and, as from an inexhaustible mine, he drew out successively locks, three-deckers, squadrons of cavalry, battalions of infantry, pedlars with their packs, jugglers with their cups; in fact, all those wonders, which, on Christmas eve, turn the heads of all children beyond the Rhine; and that, with such undisguised transports of joy, that Monsieur de Frejus himself respected his royal pupil's happiness. The assistants watched him with that religious silence which surrounds great griefs or great joys. While this silence was the most profound, a violent noise was heard in the antechamber, the door was opened, an usher announced the Duke de Villeroy, and the marshal appeared, loudly demanding to see the king. As they were, however, accustomed to such proceedings, the regent merely pointed to his majesty, who was still continuing to empty the chest, covering the furniture and floor with the splendid toys.
The marshal had nothing to say; he was nearly an hour late; the king was with Monsieur Frejus, but he approached him, grumbling, and throwing round him glances, which appeared to say that he was there ready to protect his majesty from all danger.
The regent exchanged glances with D'Artagnan and Lafare; every thing went well.
The chest was emptied—and, after having allowed the king to enjoy for an instant the sight of all his treasures—the regent approached him, and, still hat in hand, recalled to his mind the promise he had made to devote an hour to the consideration of State affairs.
Louis XV., with that scrupulousness which afterward led him to declare that punctuality was the politeness of kings,threw a last glance over his toys; and then merely asking permission to have them removed to his apartments, advanced toward the little study, and the regent opened the door. Then, according to their different characters, Monsieur de Fleury, under pretext of his dislike of politics, drew back, and sat down in a corner, while the marshal darted forward, and, seeing the king enter the study tried to follow him. This was the moment that the regent had impatiently expected.
"Pardon, marshal," said he, barring the passage; "but I wish to speak to his majesty on affairs which demand the most absolute secrecy, and therefore I beg for a short tete-à-tete."
"Tete-à-tete!" cried Villeroy; "you know, monseigneur, that it is impossible."
"And why impossible?" asked the regent, calmly.
"Because, as governor to his majesty, I have the right of accompanying him everywhere."
"In the first place, monsieur," replied the regent, "this right does not appear to me to rest on any very positive proof, and if I have till now tolerated—not this right, but this pretension—it is because the age of the king has hitherto rendered it unimportant; but now that his majesty has nearly completed his tenth year, and that I am permitted to commence instructing him on the science of government, in which I am his appointed preceptor, you will see that it is quite right that I, as well as Monsieur de Frejus and yourself, should be allowed some hours of tete-à-tete with his majesty. This will be less painful to you to grant, marshal," added the regent, with a smile, the expression of which it was impossible to mistake, "because, having studied these matters so much yourself, it is impossible that you can have anything left to learn."
"But, monsieur," said the marshal, as usual forgetting his politeness as he became warm, "I beg to remind you that the king is my pupil."
"I know it, monsieur," said the regent, in the same tone; "make of his majesty a great captain, I do not wish to prevent you. Your campaigns in Italy and Flanders prove that he could not have a better master; but, at this moment it is not a question of military science, but of a State secret, which can only be confided to his majesty; therefore, again I beg to speak to the king in private."
"Impossible, monseigneur!" cried the marshal.
"Impossible!" replied the regent; "and why?"
"Why?" continued the marshal; "because my duty is not to lose sight of the king for a moment, and because I will not permit it."
"Take care, marshal," interrupted the Duc d'Orleans, haughtily: "you are forgetting your proper respect toward me."
"Monseigneur," continued the marshal, becoming more and more angry, "I know the respect which I owe to your royal highness, and I also know what I owe to my charge, and to the king, and for that reason I will not lose sight of his majesty for an instant, inasmuch as—"
The duke hesitated.
"Well, finish," said the regent.
"Inasmuch as I answer for his person," said the marshal.
At this want of all restraint, there was a moment's silence, during which nothing was heard but the grumblings of the marshal, and the stifled sighs of Monsieur de Fleury.
As to the Duc d'Orleans, he raised his head with a sovereign air of contempt, and, taking that air of dignity which made him, when he chose, one of the most imposing princes in the world:
"Monsieur de Villeroy," said he, "you mistake me strangely, it appears, and imagine that you are speaking to some one else; but since you forget who I am, I must endeavor to remind you. Marquis de Lafare," continued he, addressing his captain of the guards, "do your duty."
Then the Marshal de Villeroy, seeing on what a precipice he stood, opened his mouth to attempt an excuse, but the regent left him no time to finish his sentence, and shut the door in his face.
The Marquis de Lafare instantly approached the marshal, and demanded hissword. The marshal remained for an instant as if thunderstruck. He had for so long a time been left undisturbed in his impertinence that he had begun to think himself invincible. He tried to speak, but his voice failed him, and, on the second, and still more imperative demand, he gave up his sword. At the same moment a door opens, and a chair appears; two musketeers push the marshal into it—it is closed. D'Artagnan and Lafare place themselves at each side, and the prisoner is carried off through the gardens. The Light Horse follow, and, at a considerable and increasing speed they descend the staircase, turn to the left, and enter the orangery. There the suite remain, and the chair, its porters, and tenant, enter a second room, accompanied only by Lafare and D'Artagnan. The marshal, who had never been remarkable for sang-froid, thought himself lost.
"Gentlemen," cried he, turning pale, while perspiration and powder ran down his face, "I hope I am not going to be assassinated!"
"No, no, make yourself easy," said Lafare, while D'Artagnan could not help laughing at his ridiculous figure—"something much more simple, and infinitely less tragic."
"What is it, then?" asked the marshal, whom this assurance rendered a little more easy.
"There are two letters, monsieur, which you were to have given to the king this morning, and which you must have in one of your pockets."
The marshal, who, till that moment, in his anxiety about himself, had forgotten Madame de Maine's affairs, started, and raised his hands to the pocket where the letters were.
"Your pardon," said D'Artagnan, stopping his hand, "but we are authorized to inform you—in case you should feel inclined to remove these letters—that the regent has copies of them."
"I may add," said Lafare, "that we are authorized to take them by force, and are absolved in advance from all accidents that may happen in such a struggle."
"And you assure me," said the marshal, "that the regent has copies of these letters?"
"On my word of honor," said D'Artagnan.
"In this case," replied Villeroy, "I do not see why I should prevent you from taking these letters, which do not regard me in the least, and which I undertook to deliver to oblige others."
"We know it," said Lafare.
"But," added the marshal, "I hope you will inform his royal highness of the ease with which I submitted to his orders, and of my regret for having offended him."
"Do not doubt it; all will be reported as it has passed. But these letters?"
"Here they are, monsieur," said the marshal, giving two letters to Lafare.
Lafare assured himself by the seals that they were really the letters he was in search of. "My dear D'Artagnan," said he, "now conduct the marshal to his destination, and give orders, in the name of the regent, that he is to be treated with every respect."
The chair was closed, and the porters carried it off. At the gate of the gardens a carriage with six horses was waiting, in which they placed the marshal, who now began to suspect the trap which had been laid for him. D'Artagnan seated himself by him, an officer of musketeers and Du Libois, one of the king's gentlemen, opposite; and with twenty musketeers at each side, and twelve following, the carriage set off at a gallop. Meanwhile, the Marquis of Lafare returned to the chateau with the two letters in his hand.
The same day, toward two o'clock in the afternoon, while D'Harmental, profiting by Buvat's absence, was repeating to Bathilde for the thousandth time that he loved her, Nanette entered, and announced that some one was waiting in his own room on important business. D'Harmental, anxious to know who this inopportune visitor could be, went to the window, and saw the Abbe Brigaud walking up and down his room. D'Harmental instantly took leave of Bathilde, and went up to his own apartments.
"Well," said the abbe, "while you are quietly making love to your neighbor, fine things are happening."
"What things?" asked D'Harmental.
"Do you not know?"
"I know absolutely nothing, except that—unless what you have to tell me is of the greatest importance—I should like to strangle you for having disturbed me; so take care, and if you have not any news worthy of the occasion, invent some."
"Unfortunately," replied the abbe, "the reality leaves little to the imagination."
"Indeed, my dear abbe," said D'Harmental, "you look in a terrible fright. What has happened? Tell me."
"Oh, only that we have been betrayed by some one. That the Marshal de Villeroy was arrested this morning at Versailles, and that the two letters from Philip V. are in the hands of the regent."
D'Harmental perfectly understood the gravity of the situation, but his face exhibited the calmness which was habitual to him in moments of danger.
"Is that all?" he asked, quietly.
"All for the present; and, if you do not think it enough, you are difficult to satisfy."
"My dear abbe," said D'Harmental, "when we entered on this conspiracy, it was with almost equal chances of success and failure. Yesterday, our chances were ninety to a hundred; to-day they are only thirty; that is all."
"I am glad to see that you do not easily allow yourself to be discouraged," said Brigaud.
"My dear abbe," said D'Harmental, "at this moment I am a happy man, and I see everything on the bright side. If you had taken me in a moment of sadness, it would have been quite the reverse, and I should have replied 'Amen' to your 'De Profundis.'"
"And your opinion?"
"Is that the game is becoming perplexed, but is not yet lost. The Marshal de Villeroy is not of the conspiracy, does not even know the names of the conspirators. Philip V.'s letters—as far as I remember them—do not name anybody; and the only person really compromised is the Prince de Cellamare. The inviolability of his character protects him from any real danger. Besides, if our plan has reached the Cardinal Alberoni, Monsieur de Saint-Aignan must serve as hostage."
"There is truth in what you say."
"And from whom have you this news?" asked the chevalier.
"From Valef, who had it from Madame de Maine; who, on receipt of the news, went to the Prince of Cellamare himself."
"We must see Valef."
"I have appointed him to meet me here, and on my way I stopped at the Marquis de Pompadour's. I am astonished that he is not here before me."
"Raoul," said a voice on the staircase.
"Stay, it is he," cried D'Harmental, running to the door and opening it.
"Thank you," said Valef, "for your assistance, which is very seasonable, for I was just going away, convinced that Brigaud must have made a mistake, and that no Christian could live at such a height, and in such a pigeon-hole. I must certainly bring Madame de Maine here, that she may know what she owes you."
"God grant," said the Abbe Brigaud, "that we may not all be worse lodged a few days hence!"
"Ah! you mean the Bastille! It is possible, abbe; but at least one does not go to the Bastille of one's own accord; moreover, it is a royal lodging, which raises it a little, and makes it a place where a gentleman may live without degradation; but a place like this—fie, abbe!"
"If you knew what I have found here," said D'Harmental, a little piqued, "you would be as unwilling to leave it as I am."
"Ah, some little bourgeoise; some Madame Michelin, perhaps. Take care, D'Harmental; these things are only allowed to Richelieu. With you and me, who are perhaps worth as much as he is, but are unfortunately not quite so much in fashion, it will not do."
"Well," said the Abbe Brigaud, "although your conversation is somewhat frivolous, I hear it with pleasure, since it assures me that our affairs are not so bad as I thought."
"On the contrary, the conspiracy is gone to the devil."
"How so?"
"I scarcely thought they would leave me time to bring you the news."
"Were you nearly arrested then, Valef?" asked D'Harmental.
"I only escaped by a hair's breadth."
"How did it happen, baron?"
"You remember, abbe, that I left you to go to the Prince de Cellamare?"
"Yes."
"Well, I was there when they came to seize his papers."
"Have they seized the prince's papers?"
"All except what we burned, which unfortunately were the smaller number."
"Then we are all lost," said the abbe.
"Why, my dear abbe, how you throw the helve after the hatchet!"
"But, Valef, you have not told us how it happened," said D'Harmental.
"My dear chevalier, imagine the most ridiculous thing in the world. I wish you had been there: we should have laughed fit to kill ourselves. It would have enraged that fellow Dubois."
"What! was Dubois himself at the ambassador's?"
"In person, abbe. Imagine the Prince de Cellamare and I quietly sitting by the corner of the fire, taking out letters from a little casket, and burning those which seemed to deserve the honors of an auto-da-fé, when all at once his valet-de-chambre enters, and announces that the hotel of the embassy is invested by a body of musketeers, and that Dubois and Leblanc wish to speak to him. The object of this visit is not difficult to guess. The prince—without taking the trouble to choose—empties the caskets into the fire, pushes me into a dressing closet, and orders that they shall be admitted. The order was useless. Dubois and Leblanc were at the door. Fortunately, neither one nor the other had seen me."
"Well, I see nothing droll as yet," said Brigaud.
"This is just where it begins," replied Valef. "Remember that I was in the closet, seeing and hearing everything. Dubois entered, and stretching out his weasel's head to watch the Prince de Cellamare, who, wrapped in his dressing-gown, stood before the fire to give the papers time to burn.
"'Monsieur,' said the prince, in that phlegmatic manner you know he has, 'may I know to what event I owe the honor of this visit?'
"'Oh, mon Dieu, monseigneur!' said Dubois, 'to a very simple thing—a desire which Monsieur Leblanc and I had to learn a little of your papers, of which,' added he, showing the letters of Philip V., 'these two patterns have given us a foretaste.'"
"How!" said Brigaud, "these letters seized at ten o'clock at Versailles are in Dubois's hands at one o'clock!"
"As you say, abbe. You see that they traveled faster than if they had been put in the post."
"And what did the prince say then?" asked D'Harmental.
"Oh! the prince wished to carry it off with a high hand, by appealing to his rights as an envoy; but Dubois, who is not wanting in a certain logic, showed him that he had himself somewhat violated these rights, by covering the conspiracy with his ambassador's cloak. In short, as he was the weakest, he was obliged to submit to what he could not prevent. Besides, Leblanc, without asking permission, had already opened the desk, and examined its contents, while Dubois drew out the drawers of a bureau and rummaged in them. All at once Cellamare left his place, and stopping Leblanc, who had just taken a packet of papers tied with red ribbon—
"'Pardon, monsieur,' said he, 'to each one his prerogatives. These are ladies' letters.'
"'Thanks for your confidence,' said Dubois, not in the least disconcerted, but rising and taking the papers from the hand of Leblanc, 'I am accustomed to these sort of secrets, and yours shall be well kept.'