"More likely the King, Sir," said the valet in a low voice. "I have heard that his Majesty walks there on that terrace every fine night after the play for half an hour. He is quite alone, and it would be as much as one's liberty is worth to approach him at that time."
"Come with me directly, Riquet," said the Count, "and show me where this is. Station yourself at the gate you mention after I have gone in, and if you hear me call to you aloud, instantly give the alarm to the sentries. Come, quick, for the play must soon be over."
Thus saying, the young Count strode on, crossed the place, and, under the guidance of Riquet, approached the gate through which Herval had entered. The key was in the lock on the outside, and the door ajar; and, leaving the man in the shadow, the Count entered alone. The gardens appeared perfectly solitary, sleeping in the moonlight. The principal water-works were still; and no sound or motion was to be seen or heard, but such as proceeded from the smaller fountains that were sparkling on the terrace making the night musical with the plaintive murmur of their waters, or from the tops of the high trees as they were waved by the gentle wind. The palace was full of lights, and nothing was seen moving across any of the windows, so that it was evident that the play was not yet concluded; and the young Count looked about for the person he sought for a moment or two in vain.
At length, however, he saw the shadow cast by one of the groups of statues, alter itself somewhat in form; and instantly crossing the terrace to the spot, he saw Herval sitting on the first step which led from the terrace down to the gardens, his back leaning against the pedestal, and his arms crossed upon his chest. He did not hear the step of the young Count till he was close upon him; but the moment he did so, he started up, and drew a pistol from his breast. He soon perceived who it was, however; and the Count, saying in a low voice, "My servants tell me you have been seeking me," drew him, though somewhat unwilling apparently, down the steps.
"What is it you wanted with me?" continued the Count, gazing in his face, to see whether the marks of insanity which Riquet had spoken of were visible to him. But there was nothing more in the man's countenance than its ordinary fierce and fiery expression when stimulated by high excitement.
"I came to you, Count," he said, "to make you, if you will, the sharer of a glorious deed; and now you are here, you shall at least be the spectator thereof--the death of your great enemy--the death of him who tramples upon his fellow-creatures as upon grapes in the winepress--the death of the slayer of souls and bodies."
"Do you mean Louvois?" said the Count in a calm tone.
"Louvois!" scoffed the man. "No I no! no! I mean him who gives fangs to the viper, and poison to the snake! I mean him without whom Louvois is but a bundle of dry reeds to be consumed to light the first fire that wants kindling, or to rot in its own emptiness! I mean the giver of the power, the lord of the persecutions: the harlot-monger, and the murderer, that calls himself King of France; and who, from that holy title, which he claims from God, thinks himself entitled to pile vice upon folly, and sin upon vice, and crime upon sin, till the destruction which he has so often courted to his own head shall this night fall upon him. The first of the brutal murderers that he sent down to rob our happy hearths of the jewel of their peace, this hand has slain; and the same that crushed the worm shall crush the serpent also."
The Count now saw that there was, indeed, in the state of Herval's mind, something different from its usual tone and character. It could hardly be said that the chief stay thereof was broken, so as to justify the absolute supposition of insanity; but it seemed as if one of the fine filaments of the mental texture had given way, leaving all the rest nearly as it was before, though with a confused and morbid line running through the whole web. It need not be said that Albert of Morseiul was determined to prevent at all or any risk the act that the man proposed to commit; but yet he wished to do so, without calling down death and torture on the head of one who was kindled almost into absolute madness, by wrongs which touched the finest affections of his heart, through religion and through love.
"Herval," he said, calmly, "I am deeply grieved for you. You have suffered, I know how dreadfully; and you have suffered amongst the first of our persecuted sect: but still you must let me argue with you, for you act regarding all this matter in a wrong light, and you propose to commit a great and terrible crime."