“Perhaps,” said the regent, calmly; “but I believe, nevertheless, that I could hold you off for the few seconds it would require them to burst open the door. Ah,” he continued, as though seeing me for the first time, “here is M. de Brancas. Good-evening, monsieur. I did not think that I should see you again so soon. Did you give M. le Duc the message I intrusted to you?”
“No, monsieur,” I answered, and it seemed to me that we were cutting a very poor figure in face of the regent’s easy nonchalance.
“You did wrong,” he said. “It would, perhaps, have saved him from this trap, into which he came without knowing the danger.”
“What was this message?” asked Richelieu, disdainfully.
“Simply, monsieur,” answered the regent, coolly, “that the next time I held you in my hands I should not let you go until your head and shoulders had parted company.”
A low groan from the princess made Richelieu start.
“Do not concern yourself, I beg of you, Charlotte,” he cried. “These are but empty vaporings, believe me. It seems to me that at present I am not in this man’s power, but he in mine,” and with a movement swift as lightning his sword was at the regent’s breast. “If you so much as move a muscle, monsieur,” he said, “I swear to you upon my honor that I will drive this sword through your heart.”
The regent did not move, only his smile grew broader. I could not but admire the man.
“De Brancas,” cried Richelieu, “bind your scarf tightly over his mouth. Do not lift your hand, monsieur,” he continued warningly to the regent.
I did as he bade me, marvelling that Orleans did not show more spirit.