I opened it with a trembling hand. What new move was this?
“M. de Brancas,” I read, “will be in the chapel of the Palais Royal at nine o’clock this morning. He will accompany the Duc de Richelieu, and will not leave until the ceremony which is to take place at that hour has been concluded. He will then proceed directly to the private audience-chamber. Signed, Orleans, Regent.”
“’Tis hardly a new calamity, Jacques,” I said, seeing his anxious face, “but it may presage one. Is Richelieu awake?”
“He is in the dining-hall awaiting you, monsieur.”
“Tell him I will join him in a moment,” and leaping out of bed, I was soon dressed and downstairs.
I looked at the duke anxiously as I advanced to take his hand, and was pleased to note that his face showed less disorder than I had feared.
“Ah, do not look so depressed, my friend!” he cried, rising to meet me. “I have finished the battle, and I fancy you will no longer find me the foolish and vacillating creature of last night. At least, I shall be strong enough to say yes or no.”
“That is well, monsieur,” I said, but I glanced at him with some concern, for his gayety seemed feverish. I judged it best to say nothing on that score, however, and we sat down to breakfast together, the duke maintaining a rapid flow of conversation which awakened in me still more uneasiness.
“I received an order this morning from the regent,” I said, at last, “commanding me to accompany you to the Palais Royal this morning at nine o’clock. If you think the sight will prove too painful, you could easily feign illness, monsieur.”
“No, no,” and Richelieu grew grave in a moment. “I shall go, my friend, and prove to Charlotte that I am not the coward she must think me.”