The Conspirators

"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 his sword. 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.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

THE BEGINNING OF THE END

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!"