"And the Queen?"
The young man hesitated, but drawing himself up resolutely under the searching glance of the Councillor, he answered—
"Her Majesty was equally gracious."
But he was not telling the truth, for the Queen's thoughts had been bent all the time on hastening her departure. Monsieur de Pontivy examined the young man critically. He was dressed with the utmost simplicity, but a certain air of distinction was apparent in his whole person and manners. Spruce and neat in appearance, sprightly and brisk in manner, and at the same time respectful, decision of character and firm will were written on his brow; his eyes of a pale green were restless and piercing, though their gleam under the gaze of others was veiled, and so subdued as to lend to the whole countenance an unexpected tenderness.
"The young man is not so bad after all," mused Monsieur de Pontivy, and he thought he was justified in admitting him to his table now and again. Had he not been honoured with a royal glance? He could by no means be looked upon as a chance comer.
A chance comer he certainly was not, as Monsieur de Pontivy soon discovered by his work, quick, neat, perfectly accurate and orderly, and his method in arrangement and classification, rare in a young man of his years. Pursuing his law studies, he was naturally interested in the difficult and delicate questions which Monsieur de Pontivy had so often to treat, elucidating them under his direction, and astonishing him sometimes by his sagacious remarks, in which were revealed a rare instinct for solving legal subtleties.
There is a certain kinship of the mind, a certain intellectual affinity, which creates sympathy between those who may be separated by a wide social gulf. They certainly were so separated, this master and his secretary: the one jealously asserting his prerogative, proud of his name, of that noblesse de robe of which he was one of the ornaments, and which, seeing its growing influence on the destinies of France, he had exalted to the highest rank; the other of doubtful origin, hesitating even to make use of the titular prefix of nobility, but shrewd and ambitious, and seeking to supply his deficiencies of birth in the reflected light of the patrician world.
For, after all, who were the de Robespierres? The tangled narrative of the young man had but half satisfied Monsieur de Pontivy. There was, first and foremost, his father, who left his four children, when mad with grief at the loss of his wife, and disappeared in Germany in most mysterious fashion. But was young Robespierre responsible for all this misty past?
That which pleased Monsieur de Pontivy most in his young secretary were his orderly habits and his method of classifying and arranging everything to hand. So continuing that evening to look for the report he wanted, he had hesitated to wake him. He had seemed so sleepy before going to bed, and it was the first time a document had not been forthcoming. The Councillor had looked everywhere—on the files, under the blotters, and even in the waste-paper basket. Had the young fellow thrown it in the fire by mistake? Naturally distrustful, suspicions began gradually to form in his mind. Had Robespierre made use of it? Had he given it to an attorney? Once doubting Monsieur de Pontivy did not rest. Had he sold it? Yes, perhaps sold it to the counsel for the adverse party! Everything is possible! One is never sure.... At any rate he would ease his mind and ascertain at once. Monsieur de Pontivy looked at his watch.
"Three o'clock! So you have kept me up till this hour, my fine fellow! Now it is your turn!"