“I know of no other, monsignor,” Péron replied, his face flushing.
The cardinal looked out through the window toward the Rue des Bons Enfants.
“More than twenty years ago,” he said in a cold tone, “a gentleman of France was beheaded for complicity in a treasonable plot against the state, against the king. He was convicted and sentenced through the testimony of his best friend; his estates, being confiscated, went to the accuser. His guilt, however, was never fully established, and more than ten years ago I found evidence which proved him innocent. The man—the friend—who bore witness against him would have removed his only child so that no claimant to the estate could ever be produced; would have done away with the child, a boy of four years old, if he had not been baffled by the fidelity of a servant and a priest. They spirited away the boy, and bred him up in concealment, under a false name, in a shop on the Rue de la Ferronnerie.”
“Mère de Dieu!” cried the young musketeer, below his breath, “is it possible that your eminence speaks of me?”
Richelieu looked at his startled face and smiled,—a strange expression in those wonderful eyes.
“I have told your history, Péron,” he remarked coolly. “I recognized you in the tennis court of Condé by your likeness to your father.”
“And my father died that death innocent?” cried Péron, forgetting the presence in which he stood, forgetting all but this wonderful revelation.
“He died innocent,” replied Richelieu, “and doubtless M. de Bruneau died without cause also. He was the nephew of your father; he made a claim to the estates; the king was inclined to listen, but there was again a charge of treason, this time, however, with some sort of drunken confession. M. de Bruneau went to the Châtelet, and from thence to the block, and the man who had ruined both uncle and nephew still possessed the estates and the title.”
“I remember,” said Péron, thoughtfully, “hearing Père Antoine speak of M. de Bruneau. Monsignor, what is my name?”
The cardinal smiled. He had watched with interest the storm of emotion which showed itself in the pale face of the soldier.