“It is the first time I have known of hearsay testimony, monsignor,” he remarked with a sneer.
“It is sometimes more valuable than false witness, M. de Nançay,” retorted the cardinal, dryly.
“Is this all that you have against me, M. le Cardinal?” demanded the marquis, with a black look,—“the trumped up and unfounded charges of your spies, the diseased imaginations of your cooks and lackeys?”
“Bear with me, M. le Marquis,” Richelieu replied calmly, “there is yet something more. I know of your designs against the state and against my life; I know of the proposed meeting at Poissy—in short, monsieur, I know all, from one of your number.”
The marquis drew a deep breath and leaned forward in his chair; he saw that the play was played out.
“Give me the name of the man who dares to accuse Pilâtre de Nançay behind his back,” he demanded fiercely.
The cardinal looked at him with a sardonic smile.
“It is easy to gratify you, M. de Nançay,” he said; “I had the greater part of my information through Gaston d’Orléans.”
Nançay sprang from his chair, cursing Monsieur in a burst of fury.
“The accursed coward!” he exclaimed, “the liar who betrayed Montmorency and a hundred more. May his soul perish in hell!”