"Thank you. So you think that, under a false name, I will get at the secrets—"
"Of your enemies, monseigneur," interrupted Dubois. "Pardieu! what a dreadful crime, and how it would distress you, to change name and dress; you have never before learned secrets by such means. But remember, monseigneur, our many disguises, and after being called M. Alain and Maitre Jean, you may well, I think, without anything derogatory to your dignity, be called Le Duc d'Olivares."
"I ask no better than a disguise for amusement, but—"
"But a disguise," continued Dubois, "to preserve the peace of France, to prevent traitors from overthrowing the kingdom, to prevent assassins from murdering you—this, I suppose, is unworthy of you. I understand; ah, if it were only in pursuit of some little ironmongress in the Pont Neuf, or the pretty widow of the Rue Saint Augustine, it might be worth your while."
"If I do what you wish," said the regent, "what will be the result?"
"Probably, that you will own that I am no visionary, and that you will allow others to watch over you, since you will not watch over yourself."
"But, once for all, if the thing turns out not worth the trouble, shall I be freed from your worrying?"
"I promise you, on my honor."
"Abbe, if you have no objection, I should prefer another oath."
"Oh, monseigneur, you are too hard; but you consent?"