"The plot?" I put in cheerfully. "Of course, I forgive you freely; it was all in the game."
"You did not believe I meant to kill you?"
"Not for an instant," I answered honestly.
He lay back in his chair, and a gratified smile flickered across his face.
"Maubranne did not tell me," he said feebly. "He knew I would not—not consent. I only intended to keep you shut up for a few weeks. What have you done with Peleton?"
"He is in the Bastille! He informed Condé of all that he knew."
"Pah! I warned the Abbé against him, but he refused to listen. Tell Raoul not to worry about me. I should have recovered but for the soldiers. Pillot had to move me. It was horrible, but the end is near now. Ask the Abbé to bury me in Paris."
He stopped exhausted; his eyes closed; his head fell forward, and I thought that life was gone. Pillot stood near me choking back his sobs. I had not given him credit for such feeling.
"Oh, monsieur," he whispered, "your cousin was good to me; I would have given my life freely to save his!"
"Hush! He is speaking again!"