"Yes; but it would be better to open them yourself—a servant might wait for your exit. If you are thus agitated before you strike the blow, what will it be afterward? Then the regent probably will not fall without defending himself—without a cry; they will all run to him, you will be arrested, and adieu your hope of the future. Think of Helene, who waits for you."
It is impossible to describe what was passing in Gaston's heart during this speech. The duke, however, watched its effect upon his countenance.
"Well," said Gaston, "what shall I do? advise me."
"When you are at the door of the conservatory, the one which opens on to the gallery turning to the left—do you know?"
"Yes."
"Under the lock you will find a carved button—push it, and the door will open, unless it be fastened within. But the regent, who has no suspicion, will not take this precaution. I have been there twenty times for a private audience. If he be not there, wait for him. You will know him, if there, by the black domino and the golden bee."
"Yes, yes; I know," said Gaston; not knowing, however, what he said.
"I do not reckon much on you this evening," replied the duke.
"Ah! monseigneur, the moment approaches which will change my past life into a doubtful future, perhaps of shame, at least of remorse."
"Remorse!" replied the duke. "When we perform an action which we believe to be just, and commanded by conscience, we do not feel remorse. Do you doubt the sanctity of your cause?"