“Sire,” said Blacas, who had for a moment the hope of sacrificing Villefort to his own profit, “I am compelled to tell you that these are not mere rumors destitute of foundation which thus disquiet me; but a serious-minded man, deserving all my confidence, and charged by me to watch over the south” (the duke hesitated as he pronounced these words), “has arrived by post to tell me that a great peril threatens the king, and so I hastened to you, sire.”
“Mala ducis avi domum,” continued Louis XVIII., still annotating.
“Does your majesty wish me to drop the subject?”
“By no means, my dear duke; but just stretch out your hand.”
“Which?”
“Whichever you please—there to the left.”
“Here, sire?”
“I tell you to the left, and you are looking to the right; I mean on my left—yes, there. You will find yesterday’s report of the minister of police. But here is M. Dandré himself;” and M. Dandré, announced by the chamberlain-in-waiting, entered.
“Come in,” said Louis XVIII., with repressed smile, “come in, Baron, and tell the duke all you know—the latest news of M. de Bonaparte; do not conceal anything, however serious,—let us see, the Island of Elba is a volcano, and we may expect to have issuing thence flaming and bristling war—bella, horrida bella.”
M. Dandré leaned very respectfully on the back of a chair with his two hands, and said: