He followed Chartres into the house, where in the library and armoury his host lit lamps and produced wine.
The clock on the mantel pointed to two o’clock.
“And now, my dear fellow,” said Chartres, “tell me all about yourself, where have you been, what have you been doing, and what is this nonsense you are saying about hunting for M. de Choiseul.”
“Well, as to what I have been doing, I can answer you simply that I have been in retirement in the country.”
“Where?”
“In the Castle of Vincennes.”
“The Castle of Vincennes!”
“Precisely. Sartines put me there to hide me from Choiseul. I would not tell you this only that I know you are entirely to be trusted. He did not want Choiseul to lay his hands on me, so he arrested me under another name, but with my consent, and popped me into Vincennes, where I have been for the last few days.”
“Yes?”
“Well, my dear Chartres, no sooner did I find myself in prison there than I found that I did not like it.”