“Oh, is that all!” cried De Blenau; “take them, take them, my good friend, and begone.”
The little man vowed that Monseigneur did him too much honour, and gathering up his dishes with admirable dexterity, he held the heap with his left arm, reserving his right to lay upon his heart, in which position he addressed another profound bow to De Blenau, and left the apartment. The prisoner now waited some time, getting more and more impatient as the day wore on. At length, however, the door once more opened, and Philip the woodman himself appeared.
Between Philip and the young Count there was of course much to be explained, which, requiring no explanation to the reader, shall not be here recapitulated. Every circumstance, however, that Philip told, whether of his writing the letter to inform him of the plots of Chavigni and Lafemas, or of the manner and apparent reason of his being dragged from his cottage to the Bastille, concurred to give De Blenau greater confidence in his new ally; and perhaps Philip himself, from having suffered a good deal on De Blenau’s account, felt but the greater inclination to hazard still more. Between two persons so inclined, preliminaries are soon adjusted: nor had De Blenau time to proceed with diplomatic caution, even had he had reason to suspect the sincerity of the Woodman. The dangers of his situation admitted no finesse; and, overleaping all ceremonies, he at once demanded if Philip would and could convey a letter from him to the Queen.
Of his willingness, the Woodman said, there was no doubt; and after a moment’s thought he added, that he had reason to hope that opportunity also would be afforded him. “It will be dangerous,” said he, “but I think I can do it.”
“Tell me how, good friend,” demanded De Blenau, “and depend upon it, whatever risks you run on my account, whether I live or die, you will be rewarded.”
“I want no reward, Sir,” answered Philip, “but a good cause and a good conscience; and I am sure, if I serve you, I am as well engaged as if I were cutting all the fagots in Mantes. But my plan is this: They tell me, that my children shall always be allowed to see me. Now I know my boy Charles, who is as active as a picvert, will not be long before he follows me. He will be here before nightfall, I am sure, and he shall take your letter to the Queen.”
De Blenau remained silent for a moment. “Was it your son who brought your letter to me?” demanded he. The Woodman assented; and the Count continued: “He was a shrewd boy, then. At all events, it must be risked. Wait, I will write, and depend upon you.”
The Woodman, however, urged that if he stayed so long, suspicion might be excited; and De Blenau suffered him to depart, desiring him to return in an hour, when the letter would be ready. During his absence, the prisoner wrote that epistle which we have already seen delivered. In it he told his situation, and the nature of the questions which had been asked him by Lafemas. He hinted also that his fate was soon likely to be decided; and desired, that any communication which it might be necessary to make to him, might be conveyed through the Woodman of Mantes.
More than one hour elapsed after this letter was written before Philip again appeared. When he did so, however, he seemed in some haste. “Monsieur le Comte,” said he, “my son is here. They have let me take him into my cell to rest, but I dare not be absent more than a moment, for fear they suspect something. Is the letter ready?”
De Blenau placed it in his hand, and would fain have added some gold. “The Queen is at Chantilly,” said he, “and your son will want money for his journey.”