“A rendezvous for to-morrow night. Not in the cold avenues of the garden this time, but in her apartment in the Palais Royal.”
“And you intend to keep this rendezvous?” I asked.
“Assuredly; why not? Did we not keep that of yesterday?”
“Yes,” I admitted, “but miracles do not happen twice in the same way. However, we shall see.”
“’Tis true about the King of Sardinia,” continued Richelieu, in a more gloomy tone. “He has sent proposals for her hand, and the regent swears she shall consent. But she says she would rather die, and I trust we may yet find a way out of it. Ah, there is some one coming!”
A moment later I heard the door of his cell opened and the voice of Maison-Rouge.
“The regent has just sent me an order for your release, M. le Duc,” he said.
“My release?”
“Yes. Unfortunately, there is a squadron of horse awaiting in the court-yard to convey you to your regiment at Bayonne at once. Come, monsieur.”
“To Bayonne? I am exiled from Paris, then?”