“What is it now?” I heard Richelieu ask, in a sleepy voice, of some one who had evidently entered his cell. “Upon my word,” he continued, “’tis the regent! To what do I owe the honor of this visit, monsieur?”
“You see ’tis as I told Your Highness,” cried the voice of Maison-Rouge. “The prisoners are safe, and assuredly will not leave their cells until I get an order permitting them to do so.”
“You are playing with me, gentlemen!” thundered the regent, in a terrible voice. “Richelieu was recognized not half an hour since in the gardens of the Palais Royal.”
“Some mistake, I do not doubt,” said Richelieu, carelessly.
“A mistake, pardieu! Perhaps it was also a mistake that I met my daughter returning to her apartment? Do you deny that it was with you she had a rendezvous?”
“Oh, M. le Regent, I deny nothing,” cried Richelieu, airily. “Why should I? It is so manifestly absurd. You say I was at the Palais Royal a few minutes since. You rush here with all speed. You find me asleep in my cell. All the doors are bolted, all the drawbridges raised, every sentry at his post. I ask you, monsieur, if the Bastille is so easily left and entered? Besides, monsieur could easily interrogate the sentries.”
The regent caught at the suggestion.
“Maison-Rouge,” he said, “call that sentry in the corridor.”
The man was called.
“Has any one passed since you have been on duty?” asked the regent.