“You have been badly informed,” said he to the servant.
“No, monsieur, I have just left the Hôtel d’Anjou, and they told me that the duke had ordered two horses for this evening. But perhaps it was not to come here.”
“Where else should he go?” said Monsoreau, with a somber air. He, like all jealous persons, thought the whole world had nothing to do but to torment him.
“Perhaps I should have done better to stay in her room,” murmured he. “But they probably have signals for corresponding; she would have warned him of my presence, and I should have learned nothing. It is better to watch outside. Come, conduct me to the hiding-place, whence you say one can see everything.”
“Come, monsieur.”
About twenty-five steps from the door was an enormous heap of stones belonging to demolished houses, and serving for fortifications to the children of the neighborhood when they played at battles. In the midst was a space, which could contain two people. The valet spread a cloak, on which Monsoreau sat down, while his servant sat at his feet, with a loaded musket placed beside him. Diana had prudently drawn her thick curtains, so that scarcely a ray of light showed through, to betray that there was life in this gloomy house.
They had been watching about ten minutes, when two horses appeared at the end of the street. The valet pointed to them.
“I see,” said Monsoreau.
The two men got off their horses, and tied them up at the corner of the Hôtel des Tournelles.
“Monseigneur,” said Aurilly, “I believe we have arrived too late; he must have gone straight from your hotel and must have entered.”