“But there must be!” I cried. “The roof,—can we not escape by the roof? Come, M. le Duc, I implore you,” for, seemingly oblivious to the sounds below, he had gone to his mistress and was whispering in her ear.
In a moment he turned to me.
“De Brancas,” he said, “I am weary of this perpetual game of hide-and-seek. I am tired of forever running away. I swore last time that I should never do it again. Go, my friend. As for me, I intend to stay.”
I looked at him aghast. He was smiling calmly and was holding out his hand to me.
“But to stay means to be captured,” I stammered, not yet understanding him. “We cannot defeat a regiment, monsieur.”
“That may be,” and the duke still smiled.
“And the Bastille.”
“Very likely.”
“And——” but here I paused.
“Go on, my friend,” said Richelieu, calmly, “I read your thought. You would say that after the Bastille the Place de Greve and the block. Is it not so? But heads do not fall so easily, de Brancas. The regent would think twice before sending me to the axe.”