"Monsieur, when did you arrive?" he asked.
"At six this evening, Monseigneur," answered the Chevalier listlessly … He had entered Paris with joy in his heart, but now everything seemed to be going wrong.
"Take care, Monsieur," said Mazarin, lifting a warning finger. "You arrived yesterday, secretly."
"I? Why, Monseigneur, this is the twentieth of February, the evening we agreed upon. I slept last night at the Pineapple in Fontainebleau. I repeat to you, I arrived scarce two hours ago." It was now for the first time that he noted the seriousness of the faces confronting him.
"And I repeat that you arrived last night."
"Monseigneur, that is telling me that I lie!"
"Then tell the truth." Mazarin did not particularly relish the Chevalier's haughtiness. "You were in Paris last night."
"Monseigneur, I am a gentleman. While I lack many virtues, I do not lack courage and truthfulness. When I say that I slept in Fontainebleau, I say so truthfully. Your Eminence will tell me the cause of this peculiar interrogatory. There is an accusation pending." There was no fear in the Chevalier's face, but there was pride and courage and something bordering closely on contempt.
"Very well, then," replied Mazarin icily. "You were in Paris last night. You had an appointment at the Hôtel de Brissac. You entered by a window. Being surprised by the aged Brissac, you killed him."
The musketeers, who knew the Chevalier's courage, exchanged glances of surprise and disbelief. As for the accused, he stepped back, horrified.