“Adieu, de Brancas,” said Richelieu, pausing on the threshold. “If you suffer for this I will bring all Brittany to your rescue,” and he was gone.
I glanced at Orleans, but he made no sign. What new trap was he preparing that he should sit here so contentedly? I strained my ears for the clash of arms or for any outcry which would tell of the discovery of the fugitive, but none came. The moments passed.
“He must be safe by this time,” I murmured.
“That being the case, let us put an end to this farce,” said the regent, speaking quite distinctly through the scarf which encircled his head, and putting up his hand, he tore the scarf away. My sword quivered in my hand, yet I had never killed a man but in fair fight and my heart failed me now. “Come, M. de Brancas,” he continued, calmly, reading my thought in my face, “put down your sword. Did you think that I should have sat quiet here so obligingly had I desired to detain the duke? Surely, you gave me credit for more spirit, monsieur?”
“Then there was a trap?” I stammered, though not surprised at this confirmation of my suspicions.
“Well, not precisely,” and the regent smiled. “But here is Mlle. Dacour, who may have some news for you.”
She entered as he spoke and cast an alarmed and astonished glance at my lowered sword and the regent’s smiling face.
“The duke is safe, is he not?” I cried, alarmed in my turn.
“I believe so,” she answered. “I let him out by the little door into the Rue de Richelieu. There was no guard at the door and apparently we were unobserved. I watched him until he turned into the Rue St. Honoré and mingled with the crowd. Then I closed the door and returned.”
“Come,” said Orleans, rising, “you see that your friend is safe, de Brancas, and that you have again outwitted me. Make your adieux to Mlle. Dacour and leave her to attend to my daughter. Come with me. I have two words to say to you,” and he picked up his hat and cloak and walked towards the door.