The Conspirators

And with these words the valet-de-chambre spread out on the bed a night-shirt, embroidered with flowers, a cap of the finest lawn, and a rose-colored ribbon. Buvat, still on his knees, regarded him with the greatest astonishment.

"Now," said the valet-de-chambre, "will monsieur allow me to help him to undress?"

"No, monsieur, no," said Buvat, accompanying the refusal with the sweetest smile he could assume. "No, I am accustomed to undress myself. I thank you, monsieur."

The valet-de-chambre retired, and Buvat remained alone.

As the inspection of the room was completed, and as his increasing hunger rendered sleep more necessary, Buvat began to undress, sighing; placed – in order not to be left in the dark – a candle on the corner of the chimney-piece, and sprang, with a groan, into the softest and warmest bed he had ever slept on.

"The bed is not sleep," is an axiom which Buvat might, from experience, have added to the list of his true proverbs. Either from fear or hunger, Buvat passed a very disturbed night, and it was not till near morning that he fell asleep; even then his slumbers were peopled with the most terrible visions and nightmares. He was just waking from a dream that he had been poisoned by a leg of mutton, when the valet-de-chambre entered, and asked at what time he would like breakfast.

Buvat was not in the habit of breakfasting in bed, so he rose quickly, and dressed in haste; he had just finished, when Messieurs Bourguignon and Comtois entered, bringing the breakfast, as the day before they had brought the dinner.

Then took place a second rehearsal of the scene which we have before related, with the exception that now it was Monsieur Comtois who ate and Monsieur Bourguignon who waited; but when it came to the coffee, and Buvat, who had taken nothing for twenty-four hours, saw his dearly-loved beverage, after having passed from the silver coffee-pot into the porcelain cup, pass into the cavernous mouth of Monsieur Comtois, he could hold out no longer, and declared that his stomach demanded to be amused with something, and that, consequently, he desired that they would leave him the coffee and a roll. This declaration appeared to disturb the devotion of Monsieur Comtois, who was nevertheless obliged to satisfy himself with one cup of the odoriferous liquid, which, together with a roll and the sugar, was placed on a little table, while the two scamps carried off the rest of the feast, laughing in their sleeves.

Scarcely was the door closed, when Buvat darted toward the little table, and, without even waiting to dip one into the other, ate the bread and drank the coffee; then, a little comforted by that repast, insufficient as it was, began to look at things in a less gloomy point of view.

In truth, Buvat was not wanting in a certain kind of good sense, and, as he had passed the preceding evening and night, and entered on the present morning, without interference, he began to understand that, though from some political motive they had deprived him of his liberty, they were far from wishing to shorten his days, and surrounded him, on the contrary, with cares, of which he had never before been the object. He had seen that the dinner of the day before was better than his ordinary dinner – that the bed was softer than his ordinary bed – that the coffee he had just drunk possessed an aroma which the mixture of chicory took away from his, and he could not conceal from himself that the elastic couches and stuffed chairs which he had sat upon for the last twenty-four hours were much preferable to the hair sofa and cane chairs of his own establishment. The only thing, then, which remained to trouble him, was the uneasiness which Bathilde would feel at his not returning. He had for an instant the idea – not daring to renew the request which he had made the day before, to have news of him sent to his ward – of imitating the man with the iron mask, who had thrown a silver plate from the window of his prison on to the shore, by throwing a letter from his balcony into the courtyard of the Palais Royal; but he knew what a fatal result this infraction of the will of Monsieur de Saint-Mars had had for the unfortunate prisoner, so that he feared, by such an action, to increase the rigors of his captivity, which at present seemed to him tolerable.

The result of all these reflections was, that Buvat passed the morning in a much less agitated manner than he had the evening and the night; moreover, his hunger – appeased by the roll and the coffee – only existed in the form of that appetite which is an enjoyment when one is sure of a good dinner. Add to all this the particularly cheerful look-out which the prisoner had from his window, and it will be easily understood that mid-day arrived without too many sorrows, or too much ennui.

Exactly at one o'clock the door opened, and the table reappeared ready laid, and brought, like the day before and that morning, by the two valets. But this time, it was neither Monsieur Bourguignon nor Monsieur Comtois who sat down to it. Buvat declared himself perfectly reassured concerning the intentions of his august host; he thanked Messieurs Comtois and Bourguignon for the devotion of which each in turn had given him a proof, and begged them to wait upon him in their turn. The two servants made wry faces, but obeyed. It will be understood that the happy disposition in which Buvat now was became more blissful under the influence of a good dinner. Buvat ate all the eatables, drank all the drinkables, and at last, after having sipped his coffee – a luxury which he usually only allowed himself on Sundays – and having capped the Arabian nectar with a glass of Madame Anfoux' liquor, was, it must be confessed, in a state bordering upon ecstasy.

That evening the supper was equally successful; but as Buvat had abandoned himself at dinner rather freely to the consumption of Chambertin and Sillery, about eight o'clock in the evening he found himself in a state of glorification impossible to describe. The consequence was, that when the valet-de-chambre entered, instead of finding him like the evening before, with his head under the bed, he found Buvat seated on a comfortable sofa, his feet on the hobs, his head leaning back, his eyes winking, and singing between his teeth, with an expression of infinite tenderness:

"Then let me go,
And let me play,
Beneath the hazel-tree."

Which, as may be seen, was a great improvement on the state of the worthy writer twenty-four hours before. Moreover, when the valet-de-chambre offered to help him to undress, Buvat, who found a slight difficulty in expressing his thoughts, contented himself with smiling in sign of approbation; then extended his arms to have his coat taken off, then his legs to have his slippers removed; but, in spite of his state of exaltation, it is only just to Buvat to say, that it was only when he found himself alone that he laid aside the rest of his garments.

This time, contrary to what he had done the day before, he stretched himself out luxuriously in his bed, and fell asleep in five minutes, and dreamed that he was the Grand Turk.

He awoke as fresh as a rose, having only one trouble – the uneasiness that Bathilde must experience, but otherwise perfectly happy.

It may easily be imagined that the breakfast did not lessen his good spirits; on the contrary, being informed that he might write to Monsieur the Archbishop of Cambray, he asked for paper and ink, which were brought him, took from his pocket his penknife, which never left him, cut his pen with the greatest care, and commenced, in his finest writing, a most touching request, that if his captivity was to last, Bathilde might be sent for, or, at least, that she might be informed, that, except his liberty, he was in want of nothing, thanks to the kindness of the prime minister.

This request, to the caligraphy of which Buvat had devoted no little care, and whose capital letters represented different plants, trees, or animals, occupied the worthy writer from breakfast till dinner. On sitting down to table he gave the note to Bourguignon, who charged himself with carrying it to the prime minister, saying that Comtois would wait during his absence. In a quarter of an hour Bourguignon returned, and informed Buvat that monseigneur had gone out, but that – in his absence – the petition had been given to the person who aided him in his public affairs, and that person had requested that Monsieur Buvat would come and see him as soon as he had finished his dinner, but hoped that monsieur would not in any degree hurry himself, since he who made the request was dining himself. In accordance with this permission Buvat took his time, feasted on the best cookery, imbibed the most generous wines, sipped his coffee, played with his glass of liquor, and then – the last operation completed – declared in a resolute tone, that he was ready to appear before the substitute of the prime minister.

The sentinel had received orders to let him pass, so Buvat, conducted by Bourguignon, passed proudly by him. For some time they followed a long corridor, then descended a staircase; at last the footman opened a door, and announced Monsieur Buvat.

Buvat found himself in a sort of laboratory, situated on the ground-floor, with a man of from forty to forty-two, who was entirely unknown to him, and who was very simply dressed, and occupied in following – at a blazing furnace – some chemical experiment, to which he appeared to attach great importance. This man, seeing Buvat, raised his head, and having looked at him curiously – "Monsieur," said he, "are you Jean Buvat?" – "At your service, monsieur," answered Buvat, bowing."The request which you have just sent to the abbé is your handwriting?""My own, monsieur.""You write a fine hand."Buvat bowed, with a proudly modest smile."The abbé," continued the unknown, "has informed me of the services which you have rendered us.""Monseigneur is too good," murmured Buvat, "it was not worth the trouble.""How! not worth the trouble? Indeed, Monsieur Buvat, it was, on the contrary, well worth the trouble, and the proof is, that if you have any favor to ask from the regent, I will charge myself with the message.""Monsieur," said Buvat, "since you are so good as to offer to interpret my sentiments to his royal highness, have the kindness to request him, when he is less pressed, if it is not too inconvenient, to pay me my arrears.""How! your arrears, Monsieur Buvat? What do you mean?""I mean, monsieur, that I have the honor to be employed at the royal library, but that for six years I have received no salary.""And how much do your arrears amount to?""Monsieur, I must have a pen and ink to calculate exactly.""Oh, but something near the mark – calculate from memory.""To five thousand three hundred and odd francs, besides the fractions of sous and deniers.""And you wish for payment, Monsieur Buvat?""I do not deny it, monsieur; it would give me great pleasure.""And is this all you ask?""All.""But do you not ask anything for the service which you have just rendered France?""Indeed, monsieur, I should like permission to let my ward Bathilde know that she may be easy on my account, and that I am a prisoner at the Palais Royal. I would also ask – if it would not be imposing upon your kindness too much – that she might be allowed to pay me a little visit, but, if this second request is indiscreet, I will confine myself to the first.""We will do better than that; the causes for which you were retained exist no more, and we are going to set you at liberty; so you can go yourself to carry the news to Bathilde.""What, monsieur, what!" cried Buvat; "am I, then, no longer a prisoner?""You can go when you like.""Monsieur, I am your very humble servant, and I have the honor of presenting you my respects.""Pardon, Monsieur Buvat, one word more." – "Two, monsieur.""I repeat to you that France is under obligations to you, which she will acquit. Write, then, to the regent, inform him of what is due to you, show him your situation, and if you have a particular desire for anything, say so boldly. I guarantee that he will grant your request.""Monsieur, you are too good, and I shall not fail. I hope, then, that out of the first money which comes into the treasury – ""You will be paid. I give you my word.""Monsieur, this very day my petition shall be addressed to the regent.""And to-morrow you will be paid.""Ah, monsieur, what goodness!""Go, Monsieur Buvat, go; your ward expects you.""You are right, monsieur, but she will lose nothing by having waited for me, since I bring her such good news. I may have the honor of seeing you again, monsieur. Ah! pardon, would it be an indiscretion to ask your name?""Monsieur Philippe.""Monsieur Philippe."

"Au revoir! Monsieur Philippe!"

"Adieu! Monsieur Buvat. One instant – I must give orders that they are to allow you to pass."

At these words he rang: an usher appeared. "Send Ravanne."

The usher went out; a few seconds afterward a young officer of guards entered.

"Ravanne," said Monsieur Philippe, "conduct this gentleman to the gate of the Palais Royal. There he is free to go where he wishes."

"Yes, monseigneur," answered the young officer.

A cloud passed over Buvat's eyes, and he opened his mouth to ask who it was that was being called monseigneur, but Ravanne did not leave him time.

"Come, monsieur," said he, "I await you."

Buvat looked at Monsieur Philippe and the page with a stupefied air; but the latter – not understanding his hesitation – renewed his invitation to follow. Buvat obeyed, drawing out his handkerchief, and wiping his forehead.

At the door, the sentinel wished to stop Buvat.

"By the order of his royal highness Monseigneur the Regent, monsieur is free," said Ravanne.

The soldier presented arms, and allowed him to pass.

Buvat thought he should faint, he felt his legs fail him, and leaned against a wall.

"What is the matter, monsieur?" asked his guide.

"Pardon, monsieur," murmured Buvat, "but who is the person to whom I have just had the honor of speaking?"

"Monseigneur the Regent in person."

"Not possible!"

"Not only possible, but true."

"What! it was the regent himself who promised to pay me my arrears?"

"I do not know what he promised you, but I know that the person who gave me the order to accompany you was the regent."

"But he told me he was called Philippe."

"Well, he is – Philippe d'Orleans."

"That is true, monsieur, that is true, Philippe is his Christian name. The regent is a brave man, and when I remember that there exist scoundrels who conspire against him – against a man who has promised to pay me my arrears – but they deserve to be hanged, all of them, to be broken on the wheel, drawn and quartered, burned alive; do not you think so, monsieur?"

"Monsieur," said Ravanne, laughing, "I have no opinion on matters of such importance. We are at the gate; I should be happy to accompany you further, but monseigneur leaves in half an hour for the Abbey of Chelles, and, as he has some orders to give me before his departure, I am – to my great regret – obliged to quit you."

"All the regret is on my side, monsieur," said Buvat, graciously, and answering by a profound bow to the slight nod of the young man, who, when Buvat raised his head, had already disappeared. This departure left Buvat perfectly free in his movements, and he profited thereby to take his way down the Place des Victoires toward the Rue du Temps-Perdu, round the corner of which he turned at the very moment when D'Harmental ran his sword through the body of Roquefinette. It was at this moment that poor Bathilde – who was far from suspecting what was passing in her neighbor's room – had seen her guardian, and had rushed to meet him on the stairs, where Buvat and she had met at the third flight.

"Oh, my dear, dear father," cried Bathilde, remounting the staircase in Buvat's arms, and stopping to embrace him at every step, "where have you been? What has happened? How is it that we have not seen you since Monday? What uneasiness you have caused us, mon Dieu! But something extraordinary must have occurred."

"Yes, most extraordinary," answered Buvat.

"Ah, mon Dieu! tell then me, first, where do you come from?"