"Yes, he is a trusty fellow."
"Where was my cousin taken?"
"Pillot did not trust me with his secret," said the astrologer, smiling blandly, "and I have not seen him since."
"But you can guess where he is to be found?"
"Indeed, I have not the least notion, monsieur," and the bland smile became still more bland, "but as to the rumour of your cousin's death I would fain hope that it is not true."
Remembering the nature of my last visit with Mazarin to this house, I placed small faith in Martin's remarks, but as it was clearly impossible to obtain any further information I took my leave, resolving to discover for myself what really had become of Henri. Raoul joined me in the search, but for a long time our efforts were fruitless. It became, indeed, difficult not to believe in my cousin's death. Many even of Condé's friends accepted the report as true, while the Abbé's henchmen openly mourned the loss of their brilliant leader. Still I was not entirely satisfied, especially as no trace could be found of Pillot.
During one of our expeditions we came across Pierre and François, the one grim and hostile, the other smiling and communicative.
"Monsieur is right," replied François in answer to my questioning, "M. de Lalande did leave the astrologer's house; I helped to carry him. He was ill—dying, I think. We took him to a safe place. Pillot stayed to nurse him and I left them. He instructed me to go because the soldiers were watching."
"Could you show us this house?" I asked.
"Monsieur would have his journey in vain. M. de Lalande is not there now. Pillot took him, or his dead body, away in a carriage."