My hat was sweeping the floor in an instant.
“I have that honor,” I said.
“I do not know you, monsieur,” sneered Orleans, looking me over from head to foot. “I should say, however, that you were from the country, and I warn you that you have fallen into bad company. You would better leave it.”
“I choose my own company, monsieur, and ask no one to do it for me,” I answered, for the insolent look of the man had set my blood on fire. “I desire no better than that I have already had.”
“Then by my faith you shall see more of it!” cried the regent, losing his calmness in an instant. “Here, lieutenant,” he called to an officer near the door, “bring in a squad of guards and arrest these men. I will see if we are to have roistering and murder at mid-day in the streets of Paris.”
“’Tis useless to resist,” said Richelieu to me in a low voice as I drew my sword. “He will not dare use much severity.”
“Your swords, messieurs,” said the lieutenant of police, advancing towards us at the head of a dozen men. Richelieu broke his over his knee and threw it to the floor. I placed my foot on mine and snapped the blade.
“To the Bastille with them!” cried the regent, beside himself with rage. “You shall answer for them with your head, lieutenant, so take care they do not escape.”
The officer simply bowed, but his cheek flushed with anger. We were led to the street, where I saw the regent’s coach standing. As we emerged from the café I caught a glimpse of two faces which seemed familiar, and looking again, I recognized the men who had entered the place with de Gare. I understood then how it happened that the regent had arrived so opportunely. They had doubtless warned him of de Gare’s peril, but too late to save his life.
A moment later we were mounted on two horses, and, surrounded by our body-guard, galloped briskly away towards the Bastille, in which, I reflected, I was like to find much less of comfort than in the palatial Hotel de Richelieu. Yet a man must take the lean with the fat, and I was far from repining.