“Oh, what does he mean?” whispered Louise, clutching at my sleeve, her eyes dark with terror. “Does he mean to do you harm, Jean?”
“That one word would repay me for it all,” I said, looking down with infinite love into that sweet, upturned face. “But I do not think so, Louise. In faith, I believe it is he who has outwitted us this evening, and not we who have outwitted him. But, oh, my life,” I whispered, pressing her to me, “you care a little, then?”
“Go, go!” she said, pushing me towards the door. “Do not keep him waiting. Do not make him angry, if he be not already so,” and she gave me one glance that made my heart leap and closed the door upon me. Something of my joy must have appeared in my face, for the regent, who was standing just outside, looked at me and smiled quizzically, but said nothing. I glanced about with astonishment, for there was not a single guard in sight.
He noticed my glance and smiled yet more broadly, but still kept silence. Motioning me to follow him, he led the way to the same room where he had given me audience but a few hours before.
“Sit down, M. de Brancas,” he said, throwing himself into the large chair which he had occupied in the afternoon. “Do you know,” he continued, looking at me with a smile, “I greatly enjoy adventures such as that of this evening. They give tone to the nerves and prove that not all men are cowards. In times of peace, such as these, it is often difficult to decide who is brave and who is not. In faith, if our treasury were not so depleted I believe I would risk a little war just for the pleasure of settling the question in regard to a few people about whom I am undecided. I already know where to place you, monsieur,” and I reddened at the compliment. “But,” he continued, and he changed his tone suddenly, “I dare say you and Richelieu believed you were executing a very clever little coup this evening. You reminded me of nothing so much as of that ridiculous Sganerelle in M. Molière’s ‘L’École des Maris,’ who while opposing his adversary with all his might in reality plays into his hand.”
“I confess, M. le Duc,” I said, “that I am still somewhat in the dark.”
“No doubt,” he laughed. “Come, I will lay the cards on the table for the sheer pleasure of looking at them myself. Did you really believe me so anxious to deprive Richelieu of his head?”
“You certainly seemed violent enough, monsieur,” I said.
“Ah, well, and I should have kept my word under certain conditions. But I am not of a blood-thirsty humor, and all I desired was to get Richelieu out of the way because he interferes with certain of my plans, as you know. Now, at Bayonne he will be quite as powerless to interfere with me as in the grave. Three hundred leagues is a long distance, monsieur.”
“Ah, ah!” I cried, a light beginning to break in upon me.