“Why do you smile, Sir?” demanded the King, sharply.
“Pardon me, Sire,” answered Chavigni. “But it was, that you should think me so weak as to trouble you upon such a subject. If leaguing with the enemies you have fought and conquered, be humble petition; if bringing foreign troops to invade your dominions, be dutiful remonstrance; if promising to deliver the strong places of France into the hands of Spain, be loyalty and faith,—then have I unnecessarily disturbed your repose.”
Chavigni’s speech worked upon the King, as he expected. “How say you!” exclaimed Louis, his eyes flashing fire. “Who has dared to conceive such a thought? Who has had the hardihood to unite himself to Spain—our sworn enemy—our mortal foe?—Prove your assertion, Sir—Prove that such a traitor exists in our dominions; and were he our own brother, we would doom him to death.”
Chavigni instantly caught at the idea. “Sorry I am to say, Sire,” he replied, “that your Majesty has but too truly divined the person. The Duke of Orleans, unhappily, is the chief of this dangerous conspiracy. Behold, my Liege, his name to this treaty with Spain;” and artfully contriving to conceal the greater part of the names with his hand in holding it before the King, he pointed out the great sprawling “Gaston,” which stood the first on the list of signatures.
Louis instantly recognised his brother’s hand-writing. “Gaston of Orleans! Gaston of Orleans!” he exclaimed, “will nothing satisfy you? Must you betray your country to her enemies, as well as plot against your brother’s life with magicians and astrologers?”
We have already had occasion to remark, that Louis, deeply imbued with all the superstitions of the age, put full faith in every part of astrology, and dreaded nothing more than the effects of enchantment. Nor could any thing free his mind from the idea, that his brother had, in former times, conspired against his life, with certain magicians who were actually executed for the crime; one amongst others being the famous Père Le Rouge, whom we have more than once noticed in this sage history. The Duke of Orleans himself escaped with a temporary banishment, but the circumstance still rankled in the King’s mind; and at present the anger which might perhaps have turned aside from Cinq Mars, had Chavigni at first suffered the favourite’s name to appear, now burst with full force upon the less favoured Gaston.
“Issue a warrant for his instant arrest,” exclaimed the King. “By Heaven, he shall not escape more than another man.”
“May it please your Majesty!” answered Chavigni, “to sign the warrant yourself. This is a case of no simple conspiracy, where the King’s brother is at its head, and many of the first in the kingdom its supporters; and the warrants ought not to be simple lettres de cachet of Council, but ought to bear the royal signature.”
“Well, Sir,” replied the King, “have the warrants prepared, and I will sign them. I am going now to hunt, and at my return we will examine these papers and speak farther.”
“I have the warrants drawn out here,” said the Statesman, not choosing to let the first impression subside. “It will not detain your Majesty a moment; I felt convinced that you would not allow justice to slumber, and therefore had them prepared. This is against the body of Gaston of France, Duke of Orleans,” he continued, looking at one of the papers.