They were gone and I was left alone with reflections that were not too pleasant. What did the regent intend doing with me? To a man of Richelieu’s position some consideration must be shown, but I might be thrown into an oubliette to rot and no one would ask twice about me. Verily, I thought, if I get out of this place again I shall do my best to stay out.
Noon came, and with it my dinner of soup, a piece of the meat of which it had been made, an apple, and a bottle of wine. I had no bread, for I had eaten all of mine for that day, and the sentry gruffly refused to give me more. I ate the dinner to the last morsel—for it has ever been my belief that the more desperate a man’s condition the greater his need of food—and spent the afternoon looking out through the bars across the fields and watching the busy highway which led towards the city. I thought of Louise, and then with a trembling dread of what it would mean to remain in this accursed hole for a year or even for a month. I vainly cudgelled my brain for a plan of escape, but could discover none which offered even a possibility of success. The weather had turned warm again, for which I was thankful, for the calotte was exposed to every wind, and must be frightfully cold in severe weather. The allowance of wood was limited to six pieces a day, and the wretched stove was wholly incapable of heating the place even with plenty of fuel.
The afternoon passed and evening came. I ate the scant supper, crept into the snuggest corner, drew my bench against me for greater warmth, and soon fell asleep. The sun again awoke me, and the second morning went much as the first had done, only more wearisomely. I passed the hours in a kind of frenzy. One thought ran ceaselessly through my brain,—to escape—to escape—but how? I could find no answer. About the middle of the afternoon I was startled by the sound of the bolts of my door being thrown, and turned from my window as a sentry entered.
“You are to follow me,” he said.
“Gladly,” I replied. “Nothing can be worse than this place,” and I descended the staircase after him. We emerged into the well court, then into the outer court, and crossed the bridge into the court beyond, my guard saying never a word, but directing his steps towards the governor’s office. A coach surrounded by a squad of mounted guards stood before it. Maison-Rouge himself met us at the door.
“M. de Brancas,” he said, “the regent has sent for you. Enter the coach, and these gentlemen will conduct you to him.”
“The devil!” I thought. “The regent! What can he want?” But without permitting any of my discomposure to appear in my face, I entered the coach. We were soon outside the walls, and I looked about for an opportunity to escape, but saw none. The guards were too many; besides, they were on horseback, while I should be on foot. Right across the city we drove, and I looked out upon the people passing to and fro and reflected bitterly that they were free and could go where they listed. But I had little time for meditation, for we were soon at the Palais Royal, and two of the guards dismounting, asked me to descend from the carriage. They placed themselves on either side of me, and we mounted the staircase. Some ten minutes we waited in a small antechamber to which no one else was admitted, and then we were shown into the presence of the regent.
“Good-day, M. de Brancas,” he said, coolly; and added to the guards, “You may go. I fancy I shall not need you again.” Then he turned to me. “Now, M. de Brancas, I intend to have a candid talk with you. But first, tell me, why are you my enemy?”
“But I am not your enemy, monsieur,” I protested.
“Then why do you associate with my enemies?” he asked.