My reflections were of a somewhat chequered nature. The amorous dalliance I had observed, and the conversation I had been forced to overhear, shocked and cooled, while it exasperated me. On one hand I found the Countess evidently taking money from officers, peers, and gentlemen for titles and crosses cajoled from the facile king; and on the other, I perceived her drawing from him intelligence concerning the intended war against the Duke of Lorraine, in whose secret interest she and her attendant, as natives of his duchy, were perhaps naturally enough enlisted. Then I thought of my present predicament—locked up in a secret cabinet, in a remote part of this ancient château, where my outcries might be unheard. Clara might be induced, or perhaps by circumstances compelled, to remain at Versailles for a night; perhaps for three nights, or even longer!
The perspiration burst over me with this idea!
I was for duty next day at the Louvre, and if I did not appear—— I strove to break open the door of the oak cabinet, but it was strong and immovable as the face of a bastion.
While these thoughts were passing through my mind I heard a voice singing the burden of the old provincial song,—
'Vive le tils d'Harlette,
Normands,
Vive le fils d'Harlette!'
and two cavaliers richly dressed, and each armed with sword and dagger, and a pair of handsome pistols suspended by silver hooks from their belts, entered laughing, and evidently bent on a frolic. In one I recognized the Chevalier d'Ische. He was still pale from the effects of his wound. The other, I had no doubt, was his companion on that night of the brawl about the girl Nicola in the Place de la Grève.
'Prince, are your pistols loaded?' asked the Chevalier.
'Mordieu! I should think so. But why?'
'Dost see the carved face on the door of that old worm-eaten cabinet?'
'A satyr's head among leaves—yes.'