"No, Sire, oh no!" replied the man. "While we were at Poitiers, I only carried one note, and that was to the saddle-maker, who in repadding one of my lord's saddles, had done it so as to gall the horse's back."
"Sir, you are lying," said the King sternly.
Riquet once more cast himself upon his knees before the monarch, clasping his hands and exclaiming, "May I lose your Majesty's favour for ever, if I am not telling you the exact truth. Let any one who dares to say that I carried any other note than that which I have mentioned be confronted with me this moment, and I will prove, that he is shamefully deceiving your Majesty, for no other note did I carry, no, not even a love letter. Otherwise, I could and would, not only tell your Majesty the fact, but every word that the notes contained."
"This is very extraordinary," said the King, "and I shall take care to inquire into it."
"I trust your Majesty will," replied the man boldly, for it may be recollected that he had not carried any note, but had been merely charged with a message to M. de Corvoie: "I trust that your Majesty will; for I assure you, on the faith of a valet de chambre, that no such transaction ever occurred. Did not they want to charge me--the very men who I dare say have brought this accusation--did they not want to charge me with having abstracted your Majesty's commission to Messieurs St. Helie and Pelisson, and with having placed a pack of cards in its stead; and were they not brought to shame by its being found out, that they themselves had done it, by fragments of the commission being found in one of their valises, wrapped like a dirty rag about an old tobacco box?"
"How is this? How is this?" exclaimed the King. "I heard that the commission had been abstracted, but I heard not this result--fragments of the commission wrapping a tobacco box found in their own valises!"
"Ay, Sire," replied the man, "'tis all too true, for the examination was conducted in presence of Monsieur de Rouvré;" and with earnest volubility Maître Jerome set to work, and, in his own particular manner, gave the monarch a long and detailed, but rapid account of what had taken place on the return of the Count de Morseiul to Poitiers, adding cunning commentaries in words, gesticulations, and grimaces, which scarcely left the King the power of retaining his due gravity, especially when Riquet personated to the life, the worthy Curé of Guadrieul, on the discovery of the paper in his valise.
While he was in the very act of making this detail, however, the door of the royal cabinet was opened, and a man of a harsh and disagreeable countenance, with a face somewhat red and blotched, but with great fire and intelligence in his eyes, entered the room, pausing for a single moment at the door, as if for permission.
"Come in, Monsieur de Louvois, come in," said the King. "This is Jerome Riquet, the valet of the Count de Morseiul, whom I told you I intended to examine. He puts a very different face upon several matters, however, from that which we expected to find," and the King briefly recapitulated to his famous minister the information he had received from Riquet, leaving out however the first part of the conversation between them, which contained matter that could not be very agreeable to the minister.
A somewhat sneering smile came upon Louvois' countenance as he listened; and he replied, "I am very happy to hear, Sire, that the Count de Morseiul is so good and faithful a servant to your Majesty. May I be permitted to ask this worthy person a question or two in your presence?"