“M. le Marquis is early,” he said coldly; and then he pointed to the clock, his face as immovable as stone. “Take your position yonder, Sieur de Calvisson, and do your duty.”
Without a word Péron turned with a white face, and stepped into his strange place of concealment. As he did so, the clock struck eleven, and the silver angel sounded the silver trumpet, a sweet clear note, more penetrating than a bell.
CHAPTER X
IN THE TOILS
ON the stroke of the clock the door at the further end of the room was opened and M. de Nançay entered unattended. As he advanced, his tall figure loomed conspicuously in the narrow room. Time had dealt kindly with him; he was now past middle age, but rather more handsome than in his earlier manhood. As usual, he was dressed in the extreme of fashion. He wore a suit of violet-colored velvet, his collar was of Mechlin lace, as were the ruffles at his sleeves and his knees, and he wore jewelled buckles on his low velvet shoes. A scarf of pale blue silk, the color of Nançay, crossed his breast; he carried his hat, covered with long plumes, in his hand, and wore no weapon but his sword. He approached the cardinal with a truculent bearing, and scarcely saluted as he paused before him.
“You are punctual, M. de Nançay,” Richelieu remarked, affecting not to notice his manner. “Be seated, sir,” he added, indicating the chair in front of the clock; “there are matters which we shall need to discuss at leisure.”
After an instant of hesitation the marquis sat down, leaning his elbow on the table, and gazing boldly and defiantly at the minister, whose cold face was like a mask, without expression save for the dangerous glow in the black eyes.
“I am pressed for time, M. le Cardinal,” de Nançay said haughtily. “I came hither at your request and to my own detriment, for I should be on my way to Blois.”
Richelieu held a sheet of folded paper in his hands, which he was drawing back and forth through his fingers.
“Ah, to Blois!” he said, raising his eyebrows slightly, “M. de Nançay mistakes his destination. To Brussels, was it not?”
The marquis frowned fiercely.