Gerald hesitated for a second; the Prince had not bestowed the ring on him, but only confided it to his care.
‘I will not compromise you, young man,’ said Mirabeau gravely: ‘I will simply enclose that ring in a letter which you shall see, when I have written it,’ and he immediately sat down to a table, and in a rapid hand dashed off some lines, which he threw across to Gerald to read. They ran thus:
‘Dear Friend and Nephew,—I am summoned to a meeting at St. Cloud, by the owner of the ring which I enclose. If I do not return to Paris by noon on Saturday, it is because ill has befallen yours,
‘Gabriel Riquetti, Count de Mirabeau.
‘To Mons. du Saillant, Rue d’Ascour, 170. ‘Friday, 3 a.m,’
‘There is the ring,’ said Gerald, as he took it from his finger.
Mirabeau sealed the note, enclosing it in a strong envelope, and placing it on the table among other letters, ready sealed and addressed.
‘You will carry this letter to its address, Gerald, and you will remain there till—till my return.’
‘I understand,’ said Gerald; ‘I am a hostage.’
‘You a hostage for me!’ cried the other haughtily. ‘Do you fancy, young man, that the whole corps you belong to could requite the loss of Gabriel Riquetti? Would the Court—would the Assembly—would France accept such a price? Go, sir, and tell Monsieur du Saillant that if any evil befall his uncle, he is to make use of you as the clue to trace it, and be sure that you discharge this trust well.’