“Oh, do not say so, monsieur!” and Mlle. de Launay, who had been a silent spectator of the foregoing scene, wrung her hands in anguish.
“But if Hérault knows,” protested the prince.
“Perhaps he does not know,” I answered. “Perhaps he only suspects, without knowing exactly what to suspect. He has doubtless observed that many couriers have passed between the Spanish embassy and the court of Madrid. He has, perhaps, been told that Madame du Maine and M. de Cellamare exchange many communications. He suspects something, he knows not what, and he is trying to find out more. This in itself would not be very serious. Only,” I added, “we must prevent his finding out anything more.”
“You may be right, monsieur,” and Cellamare’s face brightened a little. “But to prevent his finding out anything more,—that will be a difficult task.”
“He must be thrown on the wrong scent.”
“How do you mean?”
“You heard what disposition was to be made of the papers?”
“Yes.”
“Well, to-night a package of papers will be left for M. Hérault at this house in the Rue de Beauvais. They will be papers from Madame du Maine to yourself. Only, they will have no connection with this enterprise, but with something quite different. In a word, they will be papers prepared expressly for the eye of M. Hérault. You understand?”
“Perfectly,” and Cellamare’s eyes sparkled with their old brilliancy. “The plan is admirable, monsieur; permit me to compliment you.”