“Ah,” said the other. “Well, this simplifies everything indeed. This is the bowstring. Mon Dieu! was the man mad to write this? At once I shall take this to his Majesty and lay it before him with my own hands.”
“No, monsieur,” said Lavenne.
“Ah! What did you say?”
“I said no, monsieur. The letter is not mine, or at least only mine to hold as a means for the protection of M. de Rochefort. I promised the girl I told you of to keep it for that purpose.”
“Why, Mon Dieu!” cried Sartines, “I believe you are dictating to me what course of action I should take!”
“No, monsieur, or only as regards that letter and—a thing which is very precious to me—my honour.”
“Your honour. My faith! An agent of mine coming to me and talking of his honour where a business of State is concerned.” Then, flying out, “What has that to do with me?”
“Oh, monsieur,” said Lavenne coldly, and in a voice perfectly unshaken, “have you lived all these years in the world, and have you faced Paris and the Court so long in your capacity as Minister of Police that you set such a light price on honour. You value the keen sword of Verpellieux, the acuteness of Fremin, the cleverness of Jumeau, but what would all these men be worth to you if they could be bought? I have never spoken to you of the many times I could have accepted bribes in small matters, but the fact remains that without hurting you I could have accumulated fair sums of money. I did not, simply because something in me refused absolutely to play a double part. You know yourself how often I could have enriched myself by selling important secrets to your enemies. Where would you have been then? And the thing that saved you was not Lavenne, but the something that prevented Lavenne from betraying you. I call that something Honour. If it has another name it does not matter. The thing is the same. Well, I have pledged that something with regard to this letter, and if I do not redeem the pledge I will be no longer Lavenne, but a secret service agent of very little use to you, monsieur. That is all I wish to say.”
De Sartines took a few turns up and down. Then he folded up the letter and handed it back to Lavenne. From de Sartines’ point of view the word Honour belonged entirely to his own class. It was the name of a thing used among gentlemen, a thing appertaining to the higher orders. He had never considered it in relation to the Rafataille, had he done so he would have considered the relationship absurd.
According to his view of it, Honour, even amongst the nobility, was a very lean figure. Splendidly dressed, but very lean and capable of being doubled up and packed away without any injury to it.