"You shall have it! you shall have it!" replied the Abbé. "But if you do it, so that no suspicion ever falls on me, you shall have as much again this day two years; for nothing but the lives of these two young men stands between me and immense wealth."
"The worst of it all is," said the Italian, "that there is so short a time. It is to take place in the castle chapel; so there will be no going through the streets. To find him alone will be a matter of difficulty; and though I went over the passages, thinking it might come to this, yet I saw no one place, but at the door of the room called the revestry, where one could strike easily."
"I have seen the place," said the Abbé, "long ago; but I do not remember it so perfectly as to give you any aid. I know that the window of the room you mention looks into the court and gardens, and under the garden wall shall be a swift horse to bear you away. That is all I can do for you."
"I must do the rest for myself," replied the man, "and will find some means, depend upon it. Perhaps he may not wait for the other if he be eager, but may come first by himself, and then it will be easily done. However, I will now go and get the dagger ready, and I can undertake that the least scratch shall not leave an hour's life in him."
The Abbé de Boisguerin nodded his head and smiled as the other departed. "They know not," he said to himself, "they know not the man they have to deal with. These mighty men, these haughty Guises, may find that every man of strong determination and unflinching courage may thwart, if he cannot master, them; may destroy their plans, if he cannot accomplish his own. But there is another still to be dealt with. There is this proud, unfeeling, contemptuous girl; she who has been rejoicing in the reappearance of this crafty fair-faced boy.--There is now no going back; and why should I not risk life to win her too, and gratify both my love and my revenge?--Yet that seems scarcely possible," he continued. "Closely watched within the castle, never going out but strongly accompanied, she is put, it would seem, entirely out of my power, now that Villequier has fallen off from me.--And yet," he continued meditating, "and yet, there is nothing impossible to the dauntless and the daring.--Could I not bring her to the postern gate of the garden an hour before this marriage is to take place, and then, with swift horses and a carriage ready, convey her once more far away?--We have done as bold and difficult a feat before; and methinks, if I could tell her that I have news to give her concerning her uncle's safety--for rumours of his danger must have reached her ears--she will not fail to come, and come alone.--Oh! if I once more get her in my power, she shall find no means to fly again, till, on the contrary, she shall be more inclined to kneel at my feet, and beseech that I would wed her.--So it shall be! I will write to her that, if at ten o'clock she will be alone at the postern gate of the castle, she will hear news that may save her uncle's life. Then, with the swiftest horses we can find, a few hours will take us far from pursuit!--I will carry her into Spain! Epernon is with me and the way open!--It shall be done!" he said aloud; "it shall be done! But, then, this boy's death is scarcely needful! Why should I mind his living?--It will be but the greater torture to him to know that she is mine!--And yet, it were better he should die. All the tidings, and the rumours, and the bustle of his violent death in the castle will too much occupy the minds of men to let them notice our flight; so that we shall gain an hour or two. There is an eager and a daring spirit, also, within him--a keen and active mind--which might frustrate me once more in the very moment of hope. He must die! I have set my own life upon the chance; and what matters it whether one or two others are swept away before me? He must die! and then, without protection, she is mine. Once into Tourraine, and I am safe!--Ha! you are back again quickly, my good friend Orbi. Is all ready?"
"Everything, sir," replied the man; "and if I could but get into the château, and stumble upon the youth alone, I might be able to accomplish the matter to-night. Could you not furnish me with a billet to this Villequier, or some one? It matters not what; any empty words, just to make them admit me at the gates."
"Not to Villequier," said the Abbé; "not to Villequier. But I will write a few words to Mademoiselle de Clairvaut herself."
"That will do well! that will do well!" replied the man. "I am more likely to find him hanging about her apartments than any where else; and then one slight blow does the deed."
"Bring me paper and pens from the next room," cried the Abbé. "It shall be done this moment." And as soon as implements for writing were procured, he wrote a subtle epistle to Marie de Clairvaut, beseeching her to speak for a moment, at the postern gate of the château gardens early on the following day, to a person who would communicate something to her, which might save the life of her guardian the Duke of Guise. It was written in a feigned hand, and under the character of an utter stranger to her. Some mistakes too were made in the orthography of her name, and in regard to other circumstances, for the purpose of rendering the deception complete. When this was concluded and sealed, he placed it in the hands of Orbi, and after a few more words they parted.
While the Abbé busied himself in causing a carriage to be bought for the proposed enterprise of the following day, and in ordering the swiftest horses that could be found, to be obtained--not from the royal post, by which his course might have been tracked, but from one of the keepers of relais, as the irregular posting houses were called, which were then tolerated in France; the Italian proceeded on his task, with feelings in his heart which might well have been received as a reason for abating the price of the deed he was about to perform.