“And I, my dear Gamain,” said the hearer, rising as though he had all the information he wanted: “I will support your evidence by swearing that I saved you with the antidote.”
“That is why we are sworn comrades till death do us part,” exclaimed the smith, grasping the speaker’s hands.
Refusing with Spartan sobriety the wine which his friend offered him for the third or fourth time—for the amoniacal dose had sobered him as well as disgusted him with drink for a time, Gamain took the road for Versailles where he arrived safely at two in the morning with the King’s coin in his pocket and the Queen’s cake in another.
Left behind in the saloon, the pretended gunsmith drew out a set of tablets mounted in diamonds and gold, and wrote with fluid-ink pencil these two notes:
“An iron safe behind the King’s alcove, in the unlighted passage leading to the prince’s rooms. Make sure whether Louis Lecomte, locksmith’s boy, is not really Count Louis, son of Marquis Bouille, arrived eleven days ago from Metz.”
CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE FIRST GUILLOTINE.
ON Christmas Eve, a party was given at the Princess Lamballe’s, which the Queen’s presiding over made it really her own reception.
Isidore Charny had returned from Italy that morning and he had found King and Queen very kind to him. Two reasons influenced the latter: one his being the brother of Count Charny, which was a charm in his absence, and his bringing back news from the fugitive princes which suited her wishes.
They backed the Favras scheme and urged her to flee for Turin.
He left her only to go and acquaint Favras with the encouragement. The Queen had said nothing positive about the flight: but he took enough to the conspirator to fill him with joy. For the rest, the cash was in hand, the men notified to stand ready, and the King would only have to nod to have the whole plot set in motion.