Thus ended the conversation between the Count and Bossuet on the subject of religion for that night. Two guests had arrived, more soon followed, and the conversation became more general. Still, however, as there were many ecclesiastics, the subject of religion was more than once introduced, the restraint which the presence of a Protestant nobleman had occasioned on the first visit of the Count having now been removed. The evening passed over calmly and tranquilly, however, till about ten o'clock at night, when the Count took his leave, and departed. The rest of the guests stayed later; and on issuing out into the street the young nobleman found himself alone in a clear, calm, moonlight night, with the irregular shadows of the long line of houses chequering the pavement with the yellow lustre of the moon.
Looking up into the wide open square beyond, the shadows were lost, and there the bright planet of the night seemed to pour forth a flood of radiance without let or obstruction. There was a fountain in the middle of the square, casting up its sparkling waters towards the sky, as if spirits were tossing about the moonbeams in their sport, and casting the bright rays from hand to hand. As the Count gazed, however, and thought that he would stroll on, giving himself up to calm reflection at that tranquil hour, and arranging his plans for the momentous future without disturbance from the hum of idle multitudes, a figure suddenly came between the fountain and his eyes, and crept slowly down on the dark side of the street towards him. He was standing at the moment in the shadow of Bossuet's porch, so as not to be seen: but the figure came down the street to the door of the Count's own dwelling, paused for a minute, as if in doubt, then walked over into the moonlight, and gazed up into the windows of the prelate's hotel. The Count instantly recognised the peculiar form and structure of his valet, Jerome Riquet, and, walking out from the porch towards his own house, he called the man to him, and asked it any thing were the matter.
"Why yes, Sir," said Riquet in a low voice, "so much so that I thought of doing what I never did in my life before--sending in for you, to know what to do. There has been a person seeking you twice or three times since you went, and saying he must speak with you immediately."
"Do you know him?" demanded the Count.
"Oh yes, I know him," answered Riquet; "a determined devil he is too; a man in whom you used to place much confidence in the army, and who was born, I believe, upon your own lands--Armand Herval, you know him well. I could give him another name if I liked."
"Well," said the Count, as tranquilly as possible; "what of him, Riquet? What does he want here?"
"Ay, Sir, that I can't tell," replied the man: "but I greatly suspect he wants no good. He is dressed in black from his head to his feet; and his face is black enough too, that is to say, the look of it. It was always like a thunder cloud, and now it is like a thunder cloud gone mad. I don't think the man is sane, Sir; and the third time he came down here, about ten minutes ago, he said he could not stop a minute, that he had business directly; and so he went away, pulling his great dark hat and feather over his head, as if to prevent people from seeing how his eyes were flashing; and then I saw that the breast of his great heavy coat was full of something else than rosemary or honeycomb."
"What do you mean? what do you mean?" demanded the Count. "What had he in his breast?"
"Why, I mean pistols, Sir," said the man; "if I must speak good French, I say he had pistols, then. So thinking he was about some mischief, I crept after him from door to door, dodged him across the square, and saw him go in by a gate, that I thought was shut, into the garden behind the château. I went in after him, though I was in a desperate fright for fear any one should catch me; and I trembled so, that I shook three crowns in my pocket till they rang like sheep bells. I thought he would have heard me; but I watched him plant himself under one of the statues on the terrace, and there he stood like a statue himself. I defy you to have told the one from the other, or to have known Monsieur Herval from Monsieur Neptune. Whenever I saw that, I came back to look for you, and tell you what had happened; for you know, Sir, I am awfully afraid of firearms; and I had not even a pair of curling irons to fight him with."
"That must be near the apartments of Louvois," said the young Count thoughtfully. "This man may very likely seek to do him some injury."