"At least the place isn't a prison!" I concluded, as the officer hurried me to the entrance and along the corridor, while two of the gentlemen in waiting followed close behind.
Nearly at the end, and on our right hand, was a door hung with rich tapestry. Pushing the curtains aside, the officer knocked softly, and then ushered me into a large apartment furnished in the most sumptuous and magnificent manner.
"Albert de Lalande, your Highness!" he announced, and I looked quickly at the man who stood up to receive me.
This, then, must be the renowned Condé who had restored lustre to the French arms, though I held that the country had amply repaid the brilliant soldier for his skill and valour. I was also one of those who believed that winning a battle did not place a man above the laws, nor give him the right to ride rough-shod over his fellows. Still, Condé was a brilliant general, and certainly second to none save Turenne; while there were not wanting numerous flatterers who ranked the prince first.
A thin man of average height it was who stood before me; firmly set, well-proportioned and muscular. The Bourbon type was strongly marked in this member of the family—thick lips, large mouth, high and prominent cheek-bones. He possessed a good brow, betokening intelligence, and sharp, keen, blue eyes that pierced through me.
"Why, monsieur the assassin is scarcely more than a boy!" he exclaimed with a sneering laugh.
"I am old enough not to be frightened, even by Louis de Bourbon!" said I, angry at his taunt.
"Parbleu! These are brave words from a prisoner of the Bastille! The Governor feeds you too well! But come, I have several questions to put. Why did you try to kill me?"
"I did not try, your Highness! At the time of the attack I was a mile away, shut up in a room and well guarded."
"You seem fond of prison," he said, and I felt that he did not believe a word of my story.