‘This instant! I have your father’s dying words yet echoing in my brain, committing you to our care. Are you ready?’
‘Surely the Marchioness of Brinvilliers is her own mistress?’ observed Gaudin, scarcely knowing how to act.
‘She will obey me, monsieur,’ replied the other. ‘Come, Marie; you know me.’
As he spoke he seized his sister’s arm, and bowing to Sainte-Croix, drew her away.
‘You still live in the Place Maubert, I believe,’ he continued: ‘you will receive a message from me in the morning. Viens!’
He spoke in a tone of authority that Marie felt was only to be disputed by an instant encounter between François and Sainte-Croix, where they were then standing. So, throwing an expression full of intense meaning to Gaudin, she allowed her brother to lead her along the Tapis Vert, towards the entrance of the palace. Gaudin saw them depart, and then going to the stables had his horse resaddled, and rode at a desperate pace back to Paris, passing the calèche in which the Marchioness had been placed by her brother on the road.
Meanwhile the King and his immediate suite had arrived at the pavilion, and the fireworks were about to commence. Water-serpents and floating pieces of fire were already whizzing and spinning about on the surface of the basin; and one or two men had crossed the water from the opposite side of the fountain to the well-known group, where they were arranging the cases for the grand bouquet. Philippe saw this from his perch upon the urn, and determined to turn the Gascon’s vanity to some account.
‘Your dress is really very handsome, Jean,’ he observed. ‘It is a pity that its beauty is lost in the mob.’
‘I think so myself, indeed,’ replied Blacquart; ‘but I have been allowed no opportunity of showing it off. At court everything goes by interest; and—hem!—I can excuse a little jealousy on the part of the Garde Royale.’
‘Now, if they will let you light the feu d’artifice,’ said Philippe, ‘you will be seen by everybody.’