I groaned aloud. It was then as I had expected. The livery of the regent’s household was of course at the service of Hérault. I was for a moment stunned.
“M. le Duc was greatly chagrined at not finding you here, monsieur,” continued Jacques. “I told him that you had attended the theatre last night and had not returned. But monsieur is dripping wet,” he cried in astonishment, as I advanced into the circle of light cast by the hall lamp.
“Yes,” I said, looking somewhat ruefully at the ruin of my best suit, “I have just come out of the Seine, and it is not pleasant running through the streets in wet garments on a December night. I must have a change of clothes at once. If we are prompt I may yet save Richelieu.”
“He is in danger, then, monsieur?”
“In the greatest danger,” I answered. “Come.”
We ran up the stairs, and with that promptness which I had already so greatly admired, Jacques produced a suit of clothing. In five minutes I was ready for the street, and snatching up a sword, descended the staircase three steps at a time. As I passed through the hall I glanced at the clock and saw that I had yet twenty minutes in which to reach the Rue Jean Tison. The rendezvous was for ten o’clock.
I crossed the Pont Royal, and turning down the Quai des Galleries du Louvre, as likely to be least crowded, passed the Port St. Nicholas at a run, and came to the Rue des Poulies. This led me to the Rue Bailleul, which I remembered only too well, and in a moment I was at the Rue Jean Tison. The end of the street was blocked by a house, through which a large gate-way was pierced, and I passed through this and rapped at the door of the third house on the right. As I did so I heard ten o’clock striking from St. Honoré. Some one fumbled at the bolts within, and the door opened. A noise at the end of the street caught my ear and I paused an instant on the threshold. As I looked back, I saw approaching from either direction a company of mounted guards, their arms clanking and the hoofs of their horses awakening a thousand echoes.
“Bar the door quickly!” I said to the old woman who stood within holding a candle. “Where are Richelieu and the ladies?”
“On the floor above, monsieur.”
Without waiting for another word, I sprang up the stairs and flung open the first door I came to. By the dim light I saw Richelieu holding Mlle. de Valois in his arms. She uttered a startled exclamation as I entered, and drew away from him.