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 invite Brancas: 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?"