“Indeed, I am wondrous pleased to hear it,” said Richelieu, shaking his hand warmly, and leaving a gold piece in it, I do not doubt. “But what have we here?” and he turned towards the door, whence came a sudden commotion.
“For the king!” cried a voice. “For the king! Make way, messieurs.”
“The regent!” exclaimed some one, and then a strange stillness fell upon the place, save for Richelieu, who hummed one of Lulli’s gay airs.
The crowd parted to right and left, and I saw advancing towards us a large, heavy-set man, with red face and eyes which seemed to run one through.
“Who hath done this?” he cried. “Who hath killed the Comte de Gare, one of my faithful friends?”
“To me belongs the honor, monsieur,” said Richelieu, in a cool voice, but bowing low. “I regret to learn he was a friend of yours, for he was a coward and a villain, and deserved to die by the rope, not by the sword like a gentleman.”
The regent’s face turned from red to purple, and I looked to see him rush upon Richelieu, and half drew my sword. But with an effort he restrained himself, and his next words came in a voice strangely calm, yet infinitely more menacing than any violence could have been.
“Ah, I have the honor of seeing the Duc de Richelieu, have I not? But they tell me there were two men opposed to de Gare.”
“Monsieur,” cried Richelieu, “whoever said that lied. A friend of mine interposed to save me from a treacherous dagger-thrust, which the coward would have given me when he saw himself hard pressed.”
“And where is this friend, may I inquire?” asked the regent, looking about with an ominous light in his eyes.